Time Bandits
by zayjayoriginals
Summary: A spin-off of my second fic, The Language of Flowers. Draco and Epiphanie are inadvertently sent back in time, and find themselves face-to-face with their predecessors. Follow as they navigate the muggle and magical worlds of the past, as they search for a way to return to their present day. EWE. References to Cursed Child-SPOILERS! M-for sexual content.
1. Playing Dress Up

"Of _course_ I would be _delighted_ to dance with you, ma bien-aimée!" Grace Malfoy preened in the mirror of her mother's vanity. She wore an array of jeweled necklaces and bracelets up both of her tiny arms.

"Ma Zirondelle! You are blessed by the gods! I am _ever_ so lucky to have you!" she exclaimed in an imitation of her father's voice. "I live for your love!"

"Oh, _Drake!"_ she imitated her mother's voice.

She opened a drawer in the vanity and found a gold necklace haphazardly tucked beneath the myriad jewel boxes which contained her father's collection of cufflinks. It had a long gold chain that was broken. The pendant featured a small hourglass suspended in a disc, suspended in a hoop, suspended in a second hoop. Grace was mesmerized by the artefact and held it up for closer inspection. Another glimmer of gold caught her eye, and she pulled out another necklace similar to the first one. This piece of jewelry was brighter and somewhat more elaborate than the other with a third magically suspended hoop encircling the hourglass, disc and inner hoop that appeared to rotate inside the outermost hoop.

Grace heard voices from her parents' sitting room and hastily began removing the fine jewelry. She wasn't sure which boxes all of the items came from and simply shoved what she could into whatever box seemed to fit. Grace dropped the two hourglass necklaces into a cracked china pitcher on the top of the vanity just as the door to the bedchamber opened.

"Gracie? What are you up to, little girl?" Épiphanie Malfoy gave her daughter a look of humorous suspicion. She was sure that the eight-year-old had been trying on her jewelry again, the evidence still dangling from her ears. She folded her arms.

The young witch looked from her mother to her father, and settled on her defense strategy.

"I was only playing make-believe!" She looked at her parents with wide eyes. "Mummy's jewelry is _so_ _sparkly!_ " She cast her eyes down.

"Playing make-believe isn't a bad thing, Charis. But you know you're not to be in our suite without permission," said Draco. "And you shouldn't be playing with mother's jewels." He gently removed the diamond and sapphire earrings that adorned the girl's ears.

"I'm sorry, Father. I just wanted to be like Mother."

Draco drew his daughter into a hug. "When you are a little older, we'll take a trip to the vault and you may pick out something of your very own."

"With diamonds?" Grace asked. Épiphanie rolled her eyes and made a mental note to sit down and discuss with her husband the potential merits of _not_ spoiling their children.

Before the conversation could continue, they heard a yowl, followed by hissing, and a calico cat darted into the room and leapt onto the bureau, arching its back and watching the door.

"What the _devil?_ " Draco started, spinning around.

Grace's kneazle, Rhadamanthus stalked slowly into the room and stared up at the cat. Épiphanie quickly moved between the two felines and scooped up the cat on the dresser.

"Grace." She gave the girl a pointed look.

"Rhadamanthus, go to your room!" the little girl commanded.

The animal glared, and turned with a haughty swish of his tail, exiting the room slowly as if to say, "You can make me leave, but I'll do so on my own terms."

Épiphanie stroked the cat in her arms, and kissed its head. "It's okay, punkin. Rhaddie's gone." The cat leapt from her arms, transforming back into her youngest daughter, Artemis, as she landed on the antique Persian rug.

* * *

"…and then Rhadamanthus hissed at me again, and he scratched my hand!" Artemis held out her wrist to show three red marks. Épiphanie examined the child's wrist as the family sat at the breakfast table a little while later.

"I'll put some dittany on it after breakfast, but you're going to have to be careful with Rhaddie. It's in a kneazle's nature to be suspicious, and if you keep transforming into a cat, he's going to think that you're invading his territory." Épiphanie was referring to the child's metamorphagus abilities, which allowed her to transform at will. She had previously only changed her hair, but now the young witch was attempting more complex transformations. Her particular favorite was a cat, which greatly annoyed her sister's pet kneazle.

"I _told_ her not to do it, Mummy." Grace spooned eggs into her mouth. Artemis stuck out her tongue at her sister.

"Artemis, my love, ladies do not behave so indecorous at the breakfast table," said Draco, sipping his tea.

"Yes, Father." Artemis sat up, taking her cup of hot chocolate with her little finger extended and sipped. Grace rolled her eyes.

"The same goes for you too, Lady Grace. And don't tattle." Épiphanie stirred sugar into her coffee.

Hatshepsut and Wei-Wei arrived with the morning post. They took the mail, and the two owls flew from the room. Draco unfolded _The Daily Prophet._ Épiphanie scanned a copy of _The New York Ghost_ and set it aside. She took up the copy of the muggle paper from her home in New Orleans, _The Times-Picayune._ It was a few days old, having been sent first through the muggle post to Antares Hall, and then forwarded by owl. Épiphanie didn't mind, however. If she wanted immediate news, she would simply go to the nearest library and look up information on the internet.

Although they had managed to get a few electrical devices to work at The Manor, items such as televisions and computers, which relied on the muggle infrastructure, were disrupted by the ancient magic surrounding the expansive estate. Épiphanie had to go outside of the wards to use her mobile phone, an inconvenience her muggle friends found humorous, teasing her mercilessly about being so wealthy that she lived too far out in the country for decent phone service.

Finding little of interest, she set that paper aside and began leafing through the small stack of letters she'd received. Most were correspondences from friends, and a few invitations to attend social events with pureblood families that she barely knew, as well as official requests to make appearances as the daughter of The Minister of Magic. Most of her fan mail and any requests for her to make official appearances as a team representative went through the corporate offices of the Wiltshire Dragons.

"Who are these _people_ , Draco? Look, there must be five invitations here." She passed the calling cards to her husband.

"Avery—no, Travers—no, Selwyn— _absolutely not,_ Flint—perhaps, though it's been a while. Oh, _there's_ a surprise. The MacMillans have sent a card, hm. You probably didn't meet Ernest. He was in school with us—a Hufflepuff. I believe that he and Hannah were mates. The MacMillans are distant relatives, so we'll have to be sure to reciprocate. Send an owl to Mother. I'm sure that she can help you sort it all out." Draco picked up the paper that she'd discarded, and perused the articles. "Hm. The Three Brothers Tavern is listed as being selected one of the top ten places to dine in the French Quarter," he said, tapping his wand against his tea cup. It immediately filled itself.

"Oh, yeah? I didn't see that. Ignace must be proud." Épiphanie continued to read the invitations.

"Whoa!" Grace suddenly exclaimed. The adults looked up. Épiphanie's jaw dropped when she found herself face to face with her own doppelganger sitting across the table.

"Merlin and Salazar!" Draco swore. "Artemis?"

"Yes, sir?" The womanly voice that came out of the metamorphagus startled everyone at the table. Épiphanie and Draco looked at one another.

"Erm—first—please change back to yourself," Draco instructed, his voice shaky. They watched as the girl morphed back into a tiny cherubic four-year-old with cardinal red hair. Both adults heaved a sigh of relief.

"Okay! Uh—" Épiphanie exhaled slowly. "Now then—um, sweetheart—I think we need to discuss some rules about your abilities," she said.

"Definitely." Draco agreed.

"I'm sorry, Father!" Artemis shrank in her seat.

"Oh, my dearest Diana! We're not displeased, but as you're growing into your abilities, it is important for you to understand what is acceptable and what might be…potentially unsafe." Draco pushed his chair slightly away from the table and beckoned for his daughter to sit in his lap.

"First of all, you're still a child. It's not a good idea for you to transform into a grownup, because adults think and behave differently than little girls. Please don't _ever_ transform into me or Mother. It's confusing for us. Do you understand?"

"Um, yes sir."

"It's also confusing for other people who know us, Artemis. Daddy and I are very well-known, and not everyone likes us. You don't yet have a wand to protect yourself and we don't want you to get hurt," said Épiphanie. "It's kind of like how Rhadamanthus gets aggressive when you turn into a cat with him."

"We don't want you to hide your abilities, love. It's clear that you are already _quite_ talented. Being able to change at will can, in some cases, protect you if need be. We just want you to be careful. Please, for now, only transform when you're inside the house, or with one of us, so that we can keep an eye on you. Okay?" Draco tilted her chin to look into her eyes.

"And _never_ into a mouse or a rat. Try to stay away from becoming any animal smaller than Hatshepsut or Wei-Wei," Épiphanie added.

"Do you think you can remember that?" Draco asked.

"I'll try." She looked suitably chastened, and Draco gave her a peck on her forehead, smiling at her.

"That's my girl!" he winked at her, and she hopped down from his lap. Artemis skipped to the center of the room and spun around as she transformed into a beautiful fawn, her spotted chestnut coat gleaming in the morning sun. She inclined her head, and her family applauded enthusiastically.

 _"_ _Expecto Patronum!"_ A silvery stag galloped into the room and stood very near her. Épiphanie and Draco spun around in their seats to find Harry Potter standing in the doorway, pointing his wand. "I couldn't resist," he smiled. "Is this our Artemis?" He strode forward as his patronus trotted around the room before dissolving. The girl transformed back into herself and ran to him. He lifted her into a hug.

"Did you like it, Uncle Harry?" she asked.

"I did, very much! She was beautiful! Well done, love!" He gave her a peck on the cheek and she returned to the table. "And what about Lady Grace? No hugs?"

Grace primly set aside her silverware and stepped away from the table. She approached Harry and gave a polite curtsy. "Good morning, Uncle Harry." Harry smirked and gave her a bow. He conjured a small bouquet of daisies and offered it to her.

"My Lady."

Grace shyly accepted the flowers.

"You are too kind, sir. Thank you very much." Harry chuckled.

"Take your sister and tell Pippy that Uncle Harry is here and you'll be leaving soon," said Épiphanie. "Breakfast, Harry?" she offered.

"Maybe just a cuppa." He took a seat. "Artemis has come into her transformational abilities quite amazingly!" he exclaimed, filling a cup with tea.

"Perhaps a little _too_ well," said Draco. "You should have been here earlier. She transformed herself into Épiphanie!" He shuddered.

"Really?" Harry pulled an astonished face. "That must have been unsettling!"

"To say the least!" said Draco.

"It was like looking into a mirror!" Épiphanie exclaimed.

"If I wasn't sitting beside her already, I might have thought she _was_ Épiphanie! Dear Merlin! We had to stop and set some ground rules about into whom, what and when she may transform. I never thought about what it would mean to raise a metamorphagus!" Draco's face was pale. Given the intensely passionate nature of his relationship with his wife of barely a year, it frightened him to consider what he might have done had he mistaken the girl for her.

"That-that's—wow! You know, I hadn't given much thought to Teddy's abilities. I never saw Tonks do much more than change her hair or her face. I hadn't considered that they can transform into just about _anything!_ I'll have to talk with Andromeda about that!" Harry mused. "If anyone would know the challenges of raising a metamorphagus child, she would."

"Oh?" Épiphanie looked perplexed.

"Teddy's mother, Nymphadora, was also a metamorphagus."

"Oh, I see! You think she'd have some advice? Rhadamanthus has already attacked Artemis once because she transformed into a cat," said Épiphanie. "When you think about it, the limits of a child's imagination are endless! It occurred to me that we have raptors in and out of the property all day that would be happy to snap up a mouse, rat or bunny! I think about all the things I got up to when I was a teenager." She gave Draco a meaningful look. He choked on his tea. "What I could have done if I'd had _that_ ability! Lord, I don't even want to think it!" Épiphanie pulled a face.

"Well, as Alastor Moody always said—'constant vigilance!' We'll have to keep an eagle eye on our young ones, won't we? And with that in mind, I think we'll strike snorkeling off of our list of activities on this trip." Harry referred to the trip he and Ginny had planned, to take Grace, Teddy, Artemis and Victoire for the weekend, to the vacation home in Nice that the Blacks—now just Harry—and the Malfoys had shared for generations.

"You're a brave one, Harry. Taking four small kids on a weekend trip," Épiphanie said.

"Can't be any more difficult than fighting off dementors," he shrugged.

"Dementors don't whinge and refuse to eat their vegetables," said Draco.

"Vegetables? On vacation?" Harry scoffed, and let out a laugh. "Besides, we'll have Pippy along, and you said Bijou and Mimi are at our service as well, yes?"

"They are, but don't leave the children with Mimi. She's rather short tempered. Kind of a young, female version of Kreacher. It's why Mother decided she should stay there in Nice, rather than take over as ladies' maid since Diggy has returned to The Manor. Even Mother dislikes her, but giving her clothes would probably make the silly elf throw herself into the sea. Besides, despite her attitude, she's an _amazing_ cook."

Pippy arrived with a crack, holding the girls' hands. A small pile of luggage landed beside them.

"Have fun, and be good," Épiphanie hugged the girls.

"Practice your French, mes chères filles." Draco gave each girl a kiss. They shook hands with Harry and the group departed.

* * *

** _Draco refers to Grace as Charis-derived from the Greek, meaning kindness or life. Charis is one of the Graces or Charites. He also refers to Artemis as Diana, her Roman name._


	2. The Whispers

"Shall we get going, then?" Draco asked Épiphanie, leading her to their suite.

"I suppose. Everything's all packed." They entered the bedchamber, and Draco picked up his rucksack. She changed her shoes. "You don't think it's a little out of the way? It's almost an hour from the city."

"I know, but you can't entertain your muggle friends at La Maison Blanche. Then there's the problem of the tenants at your mother's house if we were to entertain our magical friends or bring the children along. If this house is acceptable, it _is_ only about an hour from New Orleans, and far enough from any others that we can set wards and have the privacy we want for magic—that'll be important while the children are young, especially Artemis. And the house has an interesting history, didn't you say?"

"I did. I printed off quite a lot of articles and background information from the internet when we were at The Hall last time. I still haven't finished reading all of them. I suppose it's worth a look. I'm still a little wary about purchasing a plantation house smack on the edge of a working farm, but if we don't like it, we can always find some other property, or build," she replied, checking her hair in the mirror. The china pitcher on her vanity began to vibrate. "It's ready!" She picked up the vessel and held it out to Draco. He grabbed hold of it, and the couple each felt a tug behind their navel.

* * *

They landed at the edge of a wooded area a few yards from a dirt road, and looked around in confusion.

"What the hell?" Épiphanie loosely gripped the pitcher. "Why aren't we at the portkey center?"

"That _is_ the house isn't it?"

"It looks like it. I know I'm not crazy, but that road is supposed to be a paved highway!" They looked across the road where a lane, lined with magnolia trees on both sides, stretched towards a grand tidewater house.

"Do you hear…singing?" Draco asked. Épiphanie turned her head and listened.

"I'll be so glad when…" a voice rang out.

"Unh-huh! When?" a chorus of voices echoed.

"The sun goes down!" the voice sang again.

"When the sun go down!" the chorus echoed.

"I'll be so glad when.."

"Unh-huh! When?"

"The sun goes down!"

"I ain't all that sleepy, but…"

"Unh-huh!"

"I wanna lie down!"

"But I wanna lie down!"

Each round of the song was accompanied by the rhythm of pounding, as with some tool striking the earth. Épiphanie's face went ashen and her shoulders slumped.

"It can't be!" she murmured. She ran up to the road and peered across to the large house, craning her neck to see beyond.

"What?" Draco followed her, a look of concern on his face. "What is it?" he asked.

"Draco, I think we might have gone back in time!" she exclaimed in a nervous whisper.

"That's not possible!" he retorted. "You can't use a portkey to travel in time."

"Draco, those are _field songs_ we hear! We're not near a prison, but we _are_ standing across the River Road from what used to be sugar cane plantation before the civil war. This road is supposed to be paved, but it isn't. The only other explanation is that a movie is being filmed here, but I don't see any evidence of modern technology, and we both know that this home is owned by muggles. I'm telling you, either we went back in time, or we're _both_ hallucinating."

Draco opened his mouth to speak when they heard the sound of horses galloping and the rumble of a wagon approaching. They looked down the road, and Épiphanie grabbed his arm, apparating them to a spot deeper in the trees. They turned in time to see a large buckboard wagon pass by. It was driven by a shabbily dressed white man. Another man sat beside him holding a shotgun. In the bed of the vehicle, a number of ragged-looking men and women sat huddled together wearing forlorn expressions.

"How could this have happened? Do you think there was something wrong with the portkey?" Épiphanie asked, turning the pitcher over in her hands. A golden object fell to the ground. She bent to pick it up. "How did this get in there? Wait—where did _this_ one come from?" She separated the two necklaces and Draco's face went pale.

"Épiphanie, where did you get that?" he demanded his voice hoarse.

"I—well, _this_ one," she held up the broken necklace. "This one came from Nott. It broke off in my hand when we fought the night before the wedding. I remember grabbing it when he was trying to choke me. I don't know _where this one_ came from. Why?"

"They—they're time-turners," he stammered, fishing in his pocket and drawing out his watch.

"So we _did_ go back in time?"

"Well, I—it's just not possible. We can't have—" He opened the pocket watch and pressed a button. The back of the watch case opened, revealing what appeared to be a perpetual calendar. Épiphanie leaned in to see the date—August 28, 1823.

"A hundred and eighty years!" she exclaimed.

"My, gods, he was telling the truth!" Draco sagged against a tree, his face devoid of color.

"Draco, _what?_ " she gripped his shoulder.

"It—it's a _true_ time-turner!" he exclaimed, his voice now a whisper.

"Okay?"

"We shouldn't have been able to travel this far. The average time turner has a limit of five hours. The Ministry's entire stockpile was destroyed when Potter infiltrated the Department of Mysteries, back in our fifth year. The battle that took place is what got Lucius sent to Azkaban. It's also how I ended up with the Dark Mark and the mission to murder Dumbledore—the Dark Lord demanded it as punishment because Potter's prophecy was destroyed in the melee. But that's neither here nor there. Lucius showed me _that_ time-turner after the war. He said it was a _true_ time-turner that wasn't constrained by the time limit. Got it from Saul Croaker himself."

"Well, what about this one? It looks like it came from the Swap Meet," she said, indicating the artefact on the broken chain. The metal appeared dull in comparison to the other, but it otherwise appeared almost identical.

"I don't know. Clearly mine is made of highest quality gold. Lucius would never have purchased anything that wasn't. This one looks like an amalgam of inferior metals. It could very well be the prototype, but if the chain is broken, it shouldn't work."

"Well, what are we going to do? How do we get back to 2003?"

"I suppose it works on the same principle. Lucius never said there was any difference between this type and the typical time-turner." He pulled her close, draped the long necklace over both of them, and began turning the hourglass. Nothing happened. "Shit!"

"Could the portkey or its proximity to the other time-turner have damaged it?" she asked.

"I don't know. It doesn't look broken."

"Well, we can't stay out here forever. We're going to have to— _Hey! That's my husband! Please don't!_ " Épiphanie interrupted her thought and suddenly changed to the sibilant whisper of parseltongue as she looked at a spot just behind Draco.

He turned to see a cottonmouth uncoiling as it slithered away from him. He threw his hands up. "Merlin! Potter saved me from one of those wretched serpents too! Don't they know as Slytherins they're our familiar?"

Épiphanie gently lifted the necklace from her shoulders and took a step back. She picked up Draco's forgotten rucksack and began to dig through it, leaning over until her head disappeared. She came up a few moments later, holding a small metal box with a lock on it.

"I think we should put them both in here, to be safe." Once they had secured the time-turners, she dove back into the satchel.

"What are you doing?" he asked, grabbing her ankle before she fell into the bag.

"I need something to wear. If we're stuck here, I can't go waltzing out in blue jeans and a Dillard University polo. The college won't even be founded for another forty-some years." She came back up with a chemise and changed clothes. She then transfigured it into a simple nineteenth-century day dress, using her wand to cinch her corset.

Once she was dressed, she tossed her husband some clothes.

"Robes?" he gave her a quizzical look.

"All you'll need is a slight transformation," she said. "Get changed."

As Draco adjusted his cravat, she transfigured his fine robes into a frock coat, and turned a ribbon into a John Bull top hat.

"Are you quite sure that this will be convincing?" Draco asked.

"We have two things going for us right away, darling. One—I grew up in this state, and I know the history. Two—the nineteenth century is not much different from the wizarding world—minus the magic. You did notice that all I had to do was transfigure a frock coat and hat for you. I had to completely redesign _my_ wardrobe." She removed her wedding rings.

"What are you doing? Oh, yes! I do recall reading that mixed race marriages were unlawful."

"Well, not entirely. This is Louisiana. White men frequently took up with free women of color and Creole women, but the marriages were plaçage. It was basically common-law. The women weren't recognized as legal wives." Épiphanie held out her hand for her husband's wedding band. Draco removed his ring and took hers, dropping them into his money purse.

"But I don't—If we're going to convince these people that we belong here, that means you will—"

"I _already_ belong to you, my love. Remember?" she gave him a wink.

"Of course! However, in this case, I must say that I find it quite distasteful." Draco pursed his lips.

"Well, it's the safest plan. Even though I'm Creole, I'm just a shade too dark for them to believe that I might be a personne libre de couleur—a free person of color, but I'm light enough to pass for your slave mistress."

"Ugh!" Draco scoffed.

"I know, babe, but we have to do it if we're going to stand a chance of getting out of this situation alive— _especially_ me."

"I suppose you're right. We may have to make our way to New Orleans before we encounter anyone with magic." He sighed. "Fine. Let's get this over with, someone is bound to discover us if we stay here much longer."

"We can't just walk up to the house."

"Well, we can't drive, either, but I think I have an idea." It was Draco's turn to dive into the satchel now. He retrieved the vintage sports car that they had shrunken in order to bring along, and transfigured it into a light horse buggy. He waved his wand again in the direction of the house. "Stables are generally down wind of the main house," he said. A minute or two passed, and a pair of horses cantered up to them. Draco enlarged the carriage and cast a glamour on the horses to change the color of their coats and markings. While he hitched the animals to the buggy, Épiphanie transformed their simple rucksack into luggage appropriate to the era. She levitated it into the back of the carriage and Draco helped her into the vehicle, climbing in beside her and taking the reins.

"Oh, you can drive a buggy, but you can't manage a car?" she looked at him with exasperation. Draco shrugged and gave a smirk as he snapped the reins. The horses sprang into motion and the carriage moved forward.

* * *

As they reached the top of the long drive into the roundabout before the house, curious servants gave them inquiring glances. A young woman ran up the sweeping staircase at the front of the house and entered a door on the second level. Presently, a well-dressed gentleman appeared on the veranda and looked down.

"State your name and business, sir!" he exclaimed.

"Lucien Malveaux. I am here at the invitation of Mr. Marcel Delhomme."

" _Confundo!"_ Épiphanie coughed, opening her fan with a flourish that concealed the movement of her wand, clutched against it. The man shuddered and then broke into a smile as he moved down the staircase.

"Mr. Malveaux! Welcome to The Whispers! Do forgive me, friend. We weren't expecting you until tomorrow!"

"Well, fair winds were in our favor and we arrived earlier than expected," Draco replied as he assisted Épiphanie from the carriage. She took a position behind him and scanned their surroundings surreptitiously, her head inclined to appear as if she was looking at the ground.

Two boys who looked to be in their early teens hurried to fetch their trunk. Both were dressed in house livery, and their pale tan complexions did not escape Épiphanie's notice.

"Well, do come on in outta the heat a bit and have a glass of lemonade." The man snapped his fingers and a girl about the same age as the boys appeared at his side. "Take the girl 'round to the cook house and tell Corinna to set her up a place. She can help with the meal."

"Yassuh," the girl nodded, and beckoned for Épiphanie to follow her.

 _Whatever happens, love, keep your temper in check. Remember, these people regard blacks like house elves. They don't mind what they say or do to them or in front of them._

"If you don't mind, monsieur, I tend to prefer to keep my possessions close at hand. I assure you, she is quite…well-trained."

"Well, she is certainly easy on the eye," Delhomme replied. "What's your name, girl?"

"Épiphanie, sir." Épiphanie briefly met the man's eyes and curtsied. She schooled her features under his scrutinizing gaze.

"Épiphanie? So she's Catholic?" Delhomme led them up the sweeping staircase

"Yes, I picked her up on my first trip to New Orleans, a few years back. I took a fancy to her right away, and Father thought there was no better way to come into manhood. I must say, I was _not_ disappointed." They followed him along the veranda to an open door where a finely dressed woman sat with a needlepoint panel in her lap. She was accompanied by a young man about their age reading a newspaper, and a girl of about four or five who was playing with a china tea set.

"My wife, Amelia. This is my son, Marius, and my princess, Antoinette."

"Malveaux," the young man nodded, folding his paper. He stood and moved towards them, his eyes flickering over Épiphanie as he approached.

 _Watch this one, love. He's sneaky._

"How do you do?" Draco shook his hand. The woman set aside her needlepoint and crossed the room.

"Mr. Malveaux. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance." She smiled coquettishly and extended her hand.

"Madame, the pleasure is all mine." He took her hand and kissed it. She withdrew her hand and eyed Épiphanie with contempt.

 _I sincerely hope he hasn't recently had those lips on her!_

Épiphanie bit the inside of her jaw, swallowing the urge to hex the woman, and curtsied politely.

"Won't you please sit down? Tessa," she gave a careless wave of her hand at the woman standing beside the door. "Bring up some fresh lemonade, and let Corinna know that we will have a guest for supper."

"Yes, ma'am." The woman turned to the door and looked back at Épiphanie. Amelia Delhomme also gave her a pointed look.

 _I think you may need to disabuse them of the notion that I am going to leave you at this time, my love._

Draco took a seat in a wing back chair near the window, snapping his fingers and pointing at the floor in front of him. Épiphanie gracefully knelt at his feet and placed her hands in her lap. Marcel Delhomme let out a laugh.

"Well, goddamn, man! My hounds ain't even that well-trained!" he exclaimed. Amelia rolled her eyes and returned her attention to her needlework.

Épiphanie was grateful to have cast her eyes on the floor, so that no one could see her expression. The girl returned a few minutes later with a tray bearing a pitcher of lemonade and glasses filled with ice, serving Draco and the members of the family.

"So," Marcel sat in the chair across from Draco, and crossed his legs. "Malveaux—that's a French name. How did you come to be in England?

"The Malveaux family has been established in Britain since the reign of William I."

"I was surprised to receive your correspondence wishing to discuss a possible business arrangement. I thought you English had big operations down in the West Indies."

"That is correct, however, our family commerce is not in agriculture, but international trade mostly. Since the collapse in sugar prices, and the crown's decision to call a _halt_ to the importation of labor from the Dark Continent, it seemed prudent to reexamine our interests and perhaps diversify." Draco sipped his lemonade.

"So you're a trader. You hardly look like a mariner. You're so pale, I'd think you get sick on board ship," said Marius with a sneer.

"One finds, young Delhomme, that a properly managed business does not require a gentleman to…sully his hands like a commoner. I am sure you understand." Draco arched his brow. "However, I am quite accustomed to the unpleasantness of certain types of transportation."

Épiphanie concealed her snicker with a cough behind her fan. Draco stroked her hair.

"So what is your interest with us, then? You speculatin'? We ain't got much stock for sellin', though we might have some interest in purchasing a few more hands for harvesting. However, I don't see that you have much that you…wish to sell." asked the young man. He gave Épiphanie an appraising look.

"Bagasse."

"Bagasse? Really? But that's waste. We burn it to fuel our boileries."

"All of it?" Draco asked.

"Typically about half," replied Marius.

"And the rest goes to rot, yes? Unless there are independent processors willing to purchase it."

"All the farms on the River Road process their own cane. Sugar is not a business like cotton, Mr. Malveaux. It's an expensive venture, and we don't look to give away one cent of our crop to any outsider. Those Yankees do enough swindling in the bargain for molasses."

"So, then it would be to your advantage if you were able to turn a profit from your excess."

"And what use would it be to you? Transporting the bagasse, means damp conditions, you can't use wet fuel. Surely you know that," said Marius.

"Of course, but I have discovered a process by which the material can be used in the production of paper. And for that, it is best stored _wet._ " He smiled. "Shh, don't tell those cotton and timber growers!" he lowered his voice conspiratorially.

"Well, I'll be damned!" Marcel slapped his knee.

"Just a minute, Daddy. Mr. Malveaux, exactly what would you be willing to _pay_ for our bagasse?" asked the younger Delhomme.

"I'm sure we can negotiate a price that is acceptable to both parties. Of course, I should like to inspect your crop and storage facilities to ensure that I am getting the highest quality material for my money."

"Of course! Come on, my friend!" Marcel leapt to his feet and strode out to the balcony. "Isaiah! Saddle up a couple of mounts and bring them around front."

"Yassuh!" a male voice answered from below.

"Perhaps your girl could be of some assistance in the kitchen until you return, sir," Amelia Delhomme suggested. "She _does_ have domestic skills does she not?"

"My lady, the skills of this exquisite creature are practically magical!" Draco boasted as he stood. He gestured for Épiphanie to do the same, and she unfolded herself with her usual grace. The white woman looked at her with disdain and pursed her lips.

"Tessa, take her to the cook house and let her help Corinna with the dinner. Make _sure_ her hands are clean!"

 _Don't kill anyone, ma Zirondelle! We'll figure a way out of this._

 _I'll be fine, mon furet. I know my history and my craft very well. You just be careful with that young one. I don't trust him._


	3. Work Song

_**There are racial epithets used in this section of the story. Please understand that it is only for historical accuracy. I am, myself, African-American and do not otherwise condone such language._

* * *

"Your daddy white?" Tessa asked as she led Épiphanie from the main house to a small cabin a few yards away from the house. Smoke curled from the chimney.

"No."

"Your mama must be Creole, huh?" the girl asked.

"Yeah."

"I figured. You got that good hair and them looks Marse and his folk like in a fancy."

"Hm."

They entered the cookhouse where two older women were hard at work. One woman was kneading dough, presumably for bread, while the other was stripping meat from a cooked chicken. A cutting board held piles of chopped onion, celery and bell peppers—Louisiana's Holy Trinity of vegetables. She knew immediately that they were making gumbo.

"And who dis?" said the woman skinning and deboning the chicken.

"Auntie Corinna, this uh—Épiphanie. She come with Marse Marcel' company, Marse Malveaux. Miss Amelia sent her to help with the cookin' while the menfolk go down to the mill."

"Ma'am." Épiphanie nodded.

"Humph!" The woman snorted, eyeing Épiphanie with derision. "Bet she ain't hit a lick of work 'ceptin on her back."

"Well, there's only one way to find out, isn't there?" Épiphanie smiled and cocked her brow.

"Ooh! How she talk, Corinna! Them Creole gals sho' thank they white, don't they?" said the other woman. "I guess she look willin' enough. We know soon enough if all her skills tied up in them pretty curls."

"Come on, gal. Get that bucket o' shrimp. You know how to peel and clean 'em?"

"Yes ma'am." Épiphanie picked up the bucket and silently cast a freshening charm on the crustaceans to ensure they would be safe to eat. She dumped the seafood onto the table and took up a knife, easily removing the heads, and split the shells down the spine, twisting the tails to remove them while sliding the vein out in one motion. She hummed softly to herself as she worked quickly and efficiently.

"I couldn't hear nobody pray, and I couldn't hear nobody pray. Oh, way down yonder by myself, and I couldn't hear nobody pray…" Sarah picked up the tune.

"In the valley…" Épiphanie sang.

"I couldn't hear nobody pray…" Corinna and Sarah responded.

"On my knees…"

"I couldn't hear nobody pray…"

"With my burdens…"

"I couldn't hear nobody pray…"

"and my savior…"

"I couldn't hear nobody pray…"

"Oh Lord…"

"I couldn't hear nobody pray…"

"Oh Lord…"

"And I couldn't hear nobody pray! Oh, way down yonder by myself, and I couldn't hear nobody pray…"

Épiphanie cleared away the remains of the shrimp into a slop bucket that Corinna pointed out to her and cleaned the table. She draped a damp cloth over the meat and cast a silent cooling charm over it.

"Okay, so you do got some skills. Pretty voice too. You cook for your mister?"

"Only when he's at his home in London. His father has large household staff at their country estate, so he just keeps me along as his companion."

"He ain't got no wife?"

"Yes, but she doesn't much care for him. Spends most of her time in Paris. They say she's had a couple of affairs." Épiphanie lied with ease, winding a believable story with the truth.

"And he _let_ her? Ooh, chile, if Miss Amelia did _that!"_ Sarah exclaimed.

"Well, word is, he only married her because his father wanted him to. I don't think he cares too much about her either," she shrugged, slicing okra.

"I guess not, seein' as you here and she's there! Look at ya, with your fancy dress, and your pretty little shoes on. I bet he got you a house too, don't he?" Épiphanie kept her face neutral as she thought of her old cottage near the arena. Corinna wasn't fooled. She arched her brow. "Mm-hmm! Marse Marcel got him a fancy placée in New Orleans. They say she light, bright, and damned near white!" Corinna crowed. She stirred the roux and added the meat. "Miss Amelia be _fit_ ever' time he go to the city!"

They added the other ingredients and let the gumbo simmer while the baguettes Sarah made rose on a proofing board.

"Here. I bet you hungry. Girl like you prob'ly used ta eatin' swanky dinners ain't you?" Corinna passed her an apple. Épiphanie shrugged and took a bite.

"Their food's alright. Sometimes I miss plain ole grits and sausage. They don't eat andouille over there. It isn't the same. That's what I miss."

Tessa returned with the empty lemonade pitcher and glasses.

"How you learn to talk like that?" she asked. Épiphanie pulled a face. This was not information she wanted to share with the women, but all three of them guessed immediately from her expression and leaned in close.

"You mean you can… _read?"_ Sarah whispered. Épiphanie neither nodded, nor shook her head. She looked nervously out the door. "Do he know?"

"He does." The women all gasped in astonishment.

"And he don't care?" asked Tessa. "He don't look the type. Way he was talkin' to Marse Marcel."

"They like to show us off over there. Singing and dancing, speaking French, and reciting poetry. Lord Mansfield raised his colored niece, Dido Elizabeth Belle, at Kenwood House. I hear she was even allowed to dine at the table."

"For real?"

"Lucien's uncle was apparently present at one of these banquets," she replied.

" _Lucien?_ Girl, you call him by name?" Corinna gave her a curious look. "You must think he love you."

"Does it matter?"

"Lawd, po' thang! They know they be gettin' y'all gals all mixed up in the head. Of _course_ it matters! He tell you anything to get you on your back. Give you pretty earrings and fancy dresses—but you know they's just his wife's old discards. He parade you around like a lady, when you is just his mistress. He just got you because he don't want his wife, or she don't want him, or they don't want each other. He got kids?"

Épiphanie nodded.

"Two."

"They yours?" Sarah asked.

"No."

"Well, that's a good thang. You ain't gotta worry about her makin' him sell them off you."

"'Specially if they's boys," added Corinna, a wistful expression on her face.

"Lucien can bed whoever he wants. He treats me well, and gives me what I want, more than I ask for sometimes. He'll never leave me, unless I want him to go. Not even to Lady Salisbury." _Especially since I_ am _Lady Salisbury._

The women laughed out loud. Épiphanie crossed her arms and assumed a bored expression. They looked at her in awe.

"Girl, she serious! What you do, put some conjure on him?" Corinna looked at her warily. Épiphanie shrugged.

"No, but he owes me a life debt. More than one, actually." The women were stunned into silence. The disturbing moment was shattered by the arrival of a tall young man appearing in the door with a basket of tomatoes and what looked like an oven grate.

"Hey, Mama. Miss Corinna, Tessa. I'se got some fresh green tomatoes, and I got that new grate for ya." He locked his eyes on Épiphanie as he moved into the room and set the basket on the table. He took a scrap of rag from his pocket to wipe his brow and hands.

"How do, ma'am? I'm Isaiah."

"Hello." Épiphanie smiled.

"Isaiah keeps the stable and shoe the horses. Sometimes he work the forge, and he grow some nice vegetables in the gardens too," Sarah boasted proudly about her son.

"That's a mighty fine dress you wearin', miss. You must be a companion to one a Miss Amelia's friends?"

"No, not exactly." Épiphanie gave him a mirthful smile.

"Well, you can't be no new girl here. Miss Amelia would never 'low anyone purtier than _her_ to be so close to Marse Marcel."

"She's _here_ with that Englishman, Mr. Malveaux," said Tessa. "And he's _very_ protective of her."

"Oh, so it's like that?" Isaiah pushed back from the table now, a condescending smirk on his face. "You fancy, huh?"

"Not in the least, sir. I am simply spoken for," she shrugged. "Sorry."

They heard the sound of hoof beats approaching, and she looked up to see Draco ride by with the elder Delhomme. Marius stopped and dismounted his horse just outside the cook house.

"Isaiah? Is it Sunday?" he asked with a sneer.

"Naw-suh!" Isaiah leapt to his feet.

"Then why you settin' up in here courtin'?"

"I just come with the new grate fo' the fireplace, suh!" Isaiah looked at his feet.

"Well, grab them buckets and go slop the hogs. Get a move on then, boy!" Marius snapped. Isaiah scrambled for the buckets of discarded food. "Lazy assed nigger!" Marius muttered as he watched him depart.

Épiphanie started upon hearing the epithet, her jaw tight. Marius reached across her and snagged an apple from a bowl on the table, his eyes coming to rest on her as he did so.

 _Sure would like to get you alone. Must be a treat to have you on your knees._ He leered at her as he bit into the apple. She affected a demure expression and turned her head away.

 _Vermiculus!_

"Ugh! Shit!" Worms began to crawl from the fruit, and Marius flung it into the fire and spat. "Goddammit!"

"Here you go, suh!" Tessa quickly handed him a dipper of water.

All of the women in the room hid their faces as he gulped down the water, still muttering and cursing to himself as he stormed out.

"Isaiah! Come get this horse!" he yelled without breaking stride. They looked after him, hands over their mouths as they snickered. As soon as he rounded the side of the house, they broke down into laughter, leaning on one another.

"Maman always told me God don't like ugly!" Épiphanie exclaimed, and they all squealed with laughter.

"Amen!" said Corinna. "I guess you alright with me, gal. I sho' hope your _Lucien_ don't hurt you."

* * *

When everything was prepared, Épiphanie helped the women to serve dinner and clean up after. They sat down together and ate a meal from the leftovers. Corinna gave her a pair of buckets and asked her to draw some water from the well across the yard. Grateful to escape the heat that still lingered in the kitchen even after sunset, Épiphanie made her way to the pump, swiping a hand across her brow. As she set the buckets down, she closed her eyes, drawing herself into Draco's consciousness.

 _Are you well, my beloved? I don't like you being away from me._

 _I'm fine, my love. I'm just playing along, but feel free to send for me any time. And snag me a cigar. I noticed that he has Cubans._ She smiled to herself, and began to work the lever, letting the water run over her hand for a moment. She cupped her hand and took a sip before setting the first bucket underneath. Once it was full, she filled the other and cast a feather-light charm on the buckets before picking them up. As she turned, a firm hand seized her arm and she jumped letting out a slight yelp. The water in the buckets splashed over her skirt.

"Please let me go, sir," Épiphanie moved to sidestep Marius Delhomme. He kept his grip firm. "Sir, Monsieur Malveaux is very particular about whom I might consort with." She glanced over his shoulder to see Tessa and Corinna moving swiftly in their direction.

"Marse Marius. Marse Malveaux wants to see Épiphanie!" Tessa panted.

"I'll take these buckets, sugar." Corinna eyed Marius coldly as she took the water buckets from her and Tessa grabbed her hand.

"He's in the study with Marse Marcel." She led her back towards the house at a near run. They slowed to catch their breath as they reached the stairs. "He didn't touch you, did he?" Épiphanie shook her head and shrugged.

"No, just grabbed my arm, that's all. I'm fine."

"You sho'?" Tessa asked.

"Yes, why?" Épiphanie gave her a wary look. An image of the girl's anguished face flashed before her. "Tessa!" she grabbed the young woman's arm to stop her. "Does anybody know?"

Tessa looked away. "Please don't say nothin'! Auntie says Miss Amelia will make Marse Marcel get rid of me!" Épiphanie sighed.

"I won't say anything. I promise." She hugged her.

* * *

Marcel Delhomme and Draco were alone in the study, when she entered. Tessa withdrew immediately, murmuring something about helping Miss Amelia dress for bed. Draco held out his hand and she took it. He pulled her into his embrace and traced a finger down her cheek.

 _Something happened. I can feel your magic pulsing._

 _The son is a fucking misogynist. Nothing new for this time period, or this region. He didn't get far, and I_ didn't _kill him, but that Vermiculus jinx comes in handy._ She smiled.

 _Wicked little dragonfly!_

 _Delhomme is watching us._

 _Play along._

Draco jerked his head as he resumed his seat. Épiphanie once again knelt at his side. She felt the older man's eyes upon her.

"You seem to be quite fond of this little filly," said Marcel.

"Well, she is quite exceptional, to say the least," Draco replied.

"Well, she certainly seems devoted and obedient. Never seen anything like it, not even in them gals down in New Orleans. You married, Malveaux?" he asked.

"I am. My parents arranged a marriage to a handsome French girl with a substantial dowry. My wife isn't terribly fond of this one, but we have an agreement."

"An agreement?" Delhomme raised a brow.

"Yes. She allows me to indulge my peculiar vagaries." He gestured to Épiphanie. "And I allow her lover to _live_." Draco called upon his cool and aloof demeanor of old, curling his lips into the characteristic Malfoy sneer. Épiphanie smirked.

 _You're good, mon furet!_

"I can certainly understand that sentiment. Amelia is too uptight to take a lover—not that I'd ever allow such a thing—still, I keep her spoiled just enough that she stops her whining about my trips down to New Orleans. If I kept the girl here, Amelia's daddy would likely call in my debts," he laughed. "But how did you manage to get the girl back to England? I mean, what with the ban on international trade of slaves."

"There _are_ certain privileges to class, my good sir." Draco arched a brow.

"So it's true what they say about you blue-bloods. It's all about who you know. But honestly, my good man—is she wearing _real_ jewels in her ears? I can see how that would bother the missus."

"Tell me, Delhomme. Do you feed your hunting dogs the same as your swine?" Draco asked. He sat back in his chair and crossed his legs, reaching out a hand to stroke Épiphanie's hair. He snapped his fingers and then tapped a finger at his shoulder. Épiphanie rose and moved behind him to massage his shoulders.

"Of course not! My hounds eat good meat."

"Well, as you can see, this one is not a lump of flesh only. I have invested significant time and energy, as well as money into making her a useful companion. As such, she is richly rewarded for indulging my whims. She can set a billiard, nine-ball, and snooker table. She is most graceful in the social dances, recites poetry, has the voice of an angel, and speaks fluent French. She is also possessed of a certain skill set peculiar to most."

"Is she?" the gentleman's eyes flicked over to Épiphanie with keen interest, and he licked his lips.

"Ah, I think you misunderstand, good sir. There is much more to this one than meets the eye." Draco smiled coolly, and touched Épiphanie's hand.

Marcel looked from Draco to Épiphanie, who paused in her ministrations and gave the other man a hard look, placing her hands possessively about Draco. "Monsieur Delhomme, it would serve you well to reign in Monsieur Marius. His gambling debts are mounting and it would be most unwise to allow him to visit the city in the near future. You will find that he hopes to use Isaiah to secure the necessary funds to settle the debts."

Delhomme's face turned red as he tried vainly to school his features. He cleared his throat and drained a glass of rum.

"Well, it is late. I do trust that you will find your room a suitable one, sir," he said, stiffly.

Draco took the cue and stood. "I am most obliged for your gracious hospitality, sir. Good evening." He held out his hand to Épiphanie. "Come along, pet."

* * *

Draco cast silencing charms the moment they were in the room, and pulled his wife into his arms. "My immortal beloved. Please forgive me for the disgraceful things which I have said about you. I hope—"

"Draco, baby it's fine. I understand. You won't believe how _vapid_ I made myself look to Tessa and the women in the cook house. It was embarrassing to sit and let them tell me that you were just using me."

"Never!" Draco pressed his lips to hers. She responded eagerly, and he began to remove her clothes. His eyes fell upon a bruise on her arm that looked suspiciously to him like a handprint. His expression darkened. "How did you get that?" he demanded.

"Young Delhomme," she frowned. "Draco, no!" she held up her hand, poised to strike, when she saw his face turn stony. "We can't alter history! If they find out about us, we'll never make it back!"

"He laid hands on you!" Draco's voice was cold enough to freeze water. "Is that why your magic was so charged?" he demanded.

"Of course it was! _Duh!_ Do you know what it took to keep myself in check? I hope I didn't go too far when I told the old man about his gambling debts. Hopefully, he'll only think that you utilize me to spy on your business interests. He's going to confront Marius immediately. I just hope he won't let him use Isaiah as collateral."

"Why?"

"Isaiah is his son."

"Really?

"Yup. He and Marius were raised together, and Isaiah was Marius' playmate until they were about fifteen or so. Marius wanted to keep him as his personal valet, until he found out they were brothers and that the old man had had an 'affair' with Sarah." She made air quotes as she said "affair."

"Wow."

"We don't know if he was supposed to find about the gambling or not. I may have disrupted their history!"

"Maybe we can stop it," Draco suggested.

"How?"

"Didn't you look up some background information about the property and the family when we were considering it? Do you have it with you?"

"I packed the folder." She went to the trunk and dug around until she came up with a small folder. "There's some articles and a brief history of the family along with some obituaries and other documents from the archives."

The couple sat down on the floor and began to read.

"It says here that _The Whispers_ plantation takes its name from the soothing whisper of the cane stalks as the wind blows through them. Blah, blah, blah. The farm was originally owned by the Delhomme family. I love how they call it a "farm" not a slave plantation. Marcel Delhomme had two children, Marius and Antoinette. Antoinette inherited the 700-acre _farm_ with her husband, Jean-Philippe Bordelais, after Marcel's death. The current D &B Sugar is a wholly owned subsidiary of Delhomme-Bordelais Industries which is still run by descendants of Antoinette and Jean-Philippe. Hm. Nothing about Marius, except that he was a child of Marcel and Amelia." Épiphanie folded up the brochure she had just read. "What do you have?"

"It looks like a family tree. There's Delhomme's ancestors. Here he is in 1777. Married Amelia in…1795. There's Marius in 1801, and one…two…three children who died young. Here's Antoinette in 1818. There's an addendum here. It looks like a separate family tree with Marcel at the top, but there's a few women here with names beneath. Are these…?"

"Those are the names of the children he had with slaves. Look, there's Sarah and Corinna, a woman named Callie, and one named Marie. Wow! There must be fifteen children here!" Épiphanie exclaimed. "See, there's Isaiah's name under Sarah's."

"Look at that! Corinna had four boys all born around the same time Amelia's babies died!" Draco laid the two papers side by side and pointed at them.

"That must be why she looked so funny when Sarah asked if I had any children. She said, if your children weren't mine, I wouldn't have to fear them being sold, especially if they were boys." She shook her head.

"I read something at the library when I first came here about a law—Le Code Noir—I believe it outlined protocols for the regulation of slavery or some such. I think it said that a slave owner could lose those children resulting from sexual relations with his slaves," Draco replied.

"I wonder how he managed to keep Isaiah from being taken."

"Money talks, my love. Perhaps he denied that the son was his."

"That's true. I wish I could be sure that everything worked out for him in the long run. Does that family tree say when Marcel died?" she asked. Draco pulled out the paper and looked at it again.

"It looks like 1834," he replied. "Hang on—Dragonfly, look!" Draco pointed at the paper, his finger below Marius' name.

"This says Marius died in 1823! That's why Antoinette inherited the farm!" She reached for the other document. "What about Isaiah?"

"He doesn't die until 1874."

"That's almost ten years after Emancipation." She shuffled through the other information she'd gathered about the house and plantation until she picked up a newspaper article. "I knew there was _something!_ " she stabbed her finger at the headline.

 _Court Orders Sale of Historic House As Part of Trademark Settlement_

"When you first showed me the listing for the house, I knew there was something else about it. This article says that descendants of the slaves owned by Delhomme, sued the Bordelais family over use of the trademark D&B Industries and demanded a profit share of the company, or that the company cease and desist with the moniker D _and_ B. Attorneys for the Bordelais family claimed that as only descendants of slaves, the plaintiffs are Delhommes in name only, and they weren't automatically entitled to ownership of the name or moniker. But look here," Épiphanie moved her finger down the page. "The _plaintiff's_ attorney maintains that the Delhomme family members who brought the suit were not simply descendants of the slaves owned by the family, but _actual_ descendants of Marcel Delhomme and were willing to provide DNA to prove it!"

"What's DNA?" Draco asked.

"It's the molecules that carry genetic information. It's why like…you and Lucius, and the Malfoys all have the pale hair and grey eyes, or why I look so much like Ma Mère. Think of it like muggle blood purity—remember when Lucius called me a half-blood quadroon? He was wrong, by the way, because my father is not mixed race. Knowing of the Glapion family history, Lucius knew that we are from mixed race Creoles which is why he said what he said. A quadroon is a classification used to identify blacks who had one-fourth African ancestry. There was also the term octoroon, and mulatto, meaning one-eighth and one half, respectively. The more "European blood" you had, the more worthy you were of respect from whites. Octoroons and Quadroons generally worked as house servants, and were the ones that abolitionists would trot out in their campaigns to convince Northerners of their worthiness of emancipation because they could so easily pass for white."

"So, the valets and the women and girls working in the house, they're all so much fairer in complexion than the others because they're mixed race?" Draco asked. "I honestly thought a couple of them were white."

"Well, we don't have to be mixed race to be light-skinned, but that's the idea. That's probably the only reason old Delhomme let me stay at your side, and why he was so interested in the fact that you would travel with your mistress. That sort of thing isn't much done outside of New Orleans." She turned her attention back to the newspaper article. "But anyway, if these Delhomme descendants were able to prove their ancestry, they have to be descendants of one of his children. And—" She turned her head toward the open window and listened. Someone was singing nearby.

"Isn't it awful late for someone to be—" Draco began. She shushed him.

"Steal away…steal away…steal away to Jesus…Steal away…steal away home! I ain't got long to stay here!" the song floated through the air from a single voice.

"Whoa!" Épiphanie exclaimed, her eyes wide.

"What?" Draco asked.

"They're planning to run!" She summoned her wand and pulled on her dressing gown. "Put the light out!"

"What are you doing, love?" Draco flicked his wand and the lamp was extinguished. He lit his wand just as she disillusioned herself.

"We need to find out who's going. If they're discovered missing before we can leave, Delhomme will expect you to help him round them up. Draco, they hunt these people like animals! Some slave catchers don't hesitate to shoot to kill. They're like the snatchers you described from the war."

"So what are you proposing to do?"

"I don't know! We have to do something! When I was younger, we learned in school that escapes from Louisiana and Mississippi were next to impossible because of the swamps which are filled with alligators and venomous snakes. I'm going to see how many are going. Stay here!" She ran out onto the veranda, casting a spell to muffle the sound of her feet on the floorboards before Draco could protest.

"Dammit, woman!" he muttered and disillusioned himself, running in the direction she'd disappeared.


	4. Steal Away

** _The Orchard Street Church in Baltimore city was actually not built until 1835, but it is reported to have been one of Harriet Tubman's stops on the Underground Railroad._

* * *

Épiphanie ran across the grounds towards the cook house. She peered around the side of the building and spotted a trail that led to a small collection of shanties where she saw a figure dart between two of the cabins and slip into the tall stalks of cane beyond. She made a beeline for the tiny house.

Draco watched the barely visible ripple in the air and followed as Épiphanie moved stealthily across the grounds. She dropped the charm when she entered the slave quarters and peeked around the side of a cabin. He saw her dart between the cabins and disappear into the cane field. Draco sprinted across the grounds checking over his shoulder to be sure no one was looking. He reached the edge of the field and dropped his disillusionment charm, creeping as quietly as possible through the tall stalks until he saw the group gathered in an area that had been cleared, probably earlier that day. There must have been about ten people gathered there—men, women and children—they were looking nervously over their shoulders and speaking in hushed voices. He scanned the group for Épiphanie, but he didn't see her. He suddenly felt something cold and hard against the back of his neck and heard the sound of a click.

"I sho' wouldn't want to kill you, mister. Yo' pretty little fancy would be stuck here with Marse Marius then. Come on, move!"

Draco put his hands into the air and stepped into the clearing to the sound of a collective gasp from the group.

"What are we going to do now!" wailed one woman. "He'll go back and tell Marse for sho'!"

"I won't tell. I promise. I can help you!" Draco protested.

"Sure you can! Soon's we let you go, you run right back to the house and wake up everybody!"

"I promise—I _can_ help you! You have to trust me!" Draco tried to keep the quaver out of his voice. He wasn't afraid of these desperate people, but he didn't know if a shield charm could stop a bullet. He'd never heard or read about it anywhere. With his wand out of reach in his boot, he didn't want to risk any sudden movement that he couldn't defend against, and suddenly wished he were as skilled in wandless magic as Épiphanie. His eyes roamed the dark clearing again in search of his wife.

"Lower your weapon, sir! If you shoot that man, it will be your first and last act as a free person!" Épiphanie emerged from the tall cane pointing a shotgun at the young man holding Draco hostage.

"Oh, Lawd!" A young girl wailed.

"What the _devil?"_ Draco swore. Where did she get that gun, he wondered.

"Listen to me! We _are_ here to help you. We can get you ahead of the pattyrollers by a whole day, but you have to trust us. You put down the gun, and I'll put mine down."

"Oh, yeah! How are you going to do that?"

"You gonna waste time arguing, or let me show you?" Épiphanie lowered the weapon. "Tell you what, if you're still not sure. Tie him up first," she nodded at Draco. He made a face.

 _Just trust me. Plus, I think I might like seeing you bound tightly for a change._

He rolled his eyes. Épiphanie held her hand behind her back and conjured a short rope, tossing it at his feet.

"Isaiah, Thomas, get it!" the gunman ordered. Her face fell when she recognized Isaiah stepping out of the crowd. Isaiah grabbed Draco's hands and Thomas bound them behind his back and pushed him down to his knees.

"Don't worry about his feet. He won't run and leave me behind," she said.

"So, how you gon' get us outta here without getting' hurt, gal?"

"With these." She threw several drinking dippers on the ground.

"Now, what the hell we supposed to do with _them?_ Drink our way to freedom?" he scoffed. The others groaned, complaining that they were going to be caught.

"Just _show_ them, love," Draco said. _They won't believe you otherwise._

"You're right," she replied. Épiphanie held out her hand and conjured a blue flame. The slaves all drew back in fright, some of them crying out. She vanished the flame and began to speak urgently. "Please, it's okay! I won't hurt anyone!" she insisted. "I can cast much stronger spells than that to protect you. So can he." She pointed at Draco, who had already summoned his wand and released himself. "There's a church in Baltimore City—Orchard Street—they'll be waiting for you. All you have to do is hold on to the dippers and they'll take you right there. I promise—but there's a catch."

"I knew it!" The man began to raise his pistol, only to find it snatched from him as it flew into Épiphanie's outstretched hand. She passed it to Draco, as he rose from his knees and moved to stand beside her. The others shrank back even more.

"Jeremiah, we have no reason to hurt you, unless you give us one."

"How you know my name?"

"If you really want to be free, take our help. You'll wake up a free man, not a fugitive. If you try to go on your own, we'll still help any way we can, but we'll only be able to slow Marcel and his catchers down by a few hours and buy you some time. We can't guarantee your freedom."

"So, what's the catch?" asked Isaiah.

" _You_ can't go with them," Draco replied.

"No! Why?"

"We're going to help you get away too, but you can't go with this lot. Delhomme trusts me. We _will_ help you get away." Draco assured him.

Isaiah considered what he was saying. The others looked at him expectantly. The dippers began to rattle on the ground. "If you're going, you need to do it now. The charm is activated. All you have to do is grab hold of one of them, but Isaiah, _please_ stay," Épiphanie implored him. "It will all work out, but if you run tonight, Marcel might sell your mother."

"I—" he bit his lip and looked at Épiphanie. She gave him a reassuring smile. "I'm staying."

"Everybody, grab hold, now! Make sure the children have a good grip!" Draco commanded. The runaways all scrambled to get a hand on one of the dippers.

"I sho' hope you know what you doin', boy!" said Jeremiah.

"I hope we _all_ know what we're doin'!" exclaimed the woman who had worried they would be found out." The group disappeared, leaving a dumbfounded Isaiah standing with Épiphanie and Draco.

"It—It—where'd they go?" he stammered.

"Canaan," she replied. Épiphanie vanished the guns.

"How—how?"

"I'm a witch, Isaiah. Dra—Lucien is a wizard. We are going to help you to get away too."

"Marius owes money to a bunch of men. Say he gon' sell me to pay them off." Isaiah choked back a fearful sob. "How could he? I know he my brother. What kind of man sell his own blood?"

"Draco." Épiphanie gave him a knowing look. He nodded. "I'll meet you at the house."

"Take my hand, friend." Draco grasped Isaiah's hand and apparated him back to the slave quarters.

"Who _are_ you?"

"I'll tell you once you're a free man." Draco pointed his wand at Isaiah. " _Obliviate!_ " The young man shuddered and looked at the wizard curiously.

"Marse Malveaux! You lookin' for somethin'? Somebody?" Isaiah's eyes turned suspicious.

"No, just taking a walk. I do enjoy stargazing. I guess my brief time at sea has made me an admirer of the cosmos. Ah—Isaiah, is it?"

"Yassuh." He nodded.

"What do you do here?"

"I manages the stable, suh. I also work the forge and shoe the horses."

"A farrier? Can you drive a coach?" Draco asked.

"Yassuh," Isaiah replied. He shifted nervously.

"Good to know." Draco patted Isaiah on the shoulder. He turned to go.

"Uh, Marse Malveaux, suh?" Isaiah called after him.

"Yes?" Draco looked at him, his expression neutral.

"Is you thinkin' 'bout—uh. Never mind, suh." Isaiah lowered his head, shoulders slumped. Draco sighed and shook his head.

"You know, Isaiah, my girl has taken a fancy to you."

"Marse Malveaux, suh, I never—" Isaiah held out his hands plaintively.

"No! No, no, no! I know, my friend. I know." Draco chuckled and gave him a heartening smile. "She can have a soft heart, that one, and she's asked me if I might make Delhomme an offer for you." Isaiah's eyes flickered with emotion and he gave a short nod. Draco recognized that expression. He'd seen something similar in his own reflection not so long ago. It was defeat. In order to get out of one situation, he had to submit to another that he did not want any more than the other.

"Isaiah," he leveled his gaze at the man, urging him to meet his eyes. "Someone once told me that if you never lose sight of the future that you want, anything can happen. Even in the darkest of times, there is love, light, and hope. Trust in that my friend." With a nod, Draco turned on his heel and walked back towards the house. When he reached the side of the cook house, he apparated into the room where Épiphanie was waiting.

"Is everything okay?" she asked. "I thought you'd be back sooner."

"Everything is fine, beloved. Nothing to worry about." He smiled, and began to undress. She cast another _Muffliato_ on the room before she spoke again.

"I was looking through these papers again. I think these Delhomme descendants suing the Bordelais family are Isaiah's descendants."

"What makes you so sure?" Draco asked.

"Because, you said that the Code Noir requires the removal of children born from sexual relations between a slave owner and his property. If those children had been sold, then at Emancipation, they would most likely have taken the name of the family who owned them at the time. But if Isaiah was still on the farm at Emancipation, he would have been a Delhomme. Even if he was somehow freed before then, he might still have kept the name, since Marcel is his father.

"Then we'll just have to make sure that he does just that," said Draco.

"But how are we going to help him escape from here?"

"I will… _buy_ Isaiah," he said. Épiphanie looked at him in horrified astonishment. "I will buy him…and I will _free_ him."

* * *

" _Goddammit!_ Sonofabitch!" Draco and Épiphanie bolted upright immediately, at the sound of Marcel Delhomme's voice bellowing through the house the next morning.

"He knows they're gone!" she said. She waved her hand at the papers scattered about the floor, sending them into the bottom of the trunk. They leapt out of bed and dressed quickly. Épiphanie was grateful for magic as she managed corsets and crinolines with the assistance of charms until she wore a simple, yet elegant ivory dress trimmed in lace.

There was a knock at the door.

"Marse Malveaux, suh! Marse Delhomme say—" the woman was interrupted as Marcel Delhomme rapped loudly on the door.

"Are you decent, Malveaux? We've got a situation here!" Delhomme barged into the room without waiting for a reply. " _Goddammit_ , man! Ten of my slaves ran off in the middle of the night!"

"Are you serious?" Draco wore an expression of astonishment, and Épiphanie thought to herself, that her husband could win an Academy Award for the performance he was putting on at the moment. "Have you organized a search party?" Draco pulled on his boots and shrugged into his jacket.

"My men are putting together a posse right now. Come on!"

"You!" He grabbed Épiphanie by her hair harshly. "Keep your black arse in this room!" he snarled, grabbing her face. "You don't _leave_ until I return!"

 _I don't want you possibly encountering that young Delhomme without me here. Merlin knows you might kill him if he does anything untoward!_

"Yes, sir!" she replied. He kissed her roughly. "Let's go!" He followed Delhomme from the room. Épiphanie rubbed her jaw, massaging away the slight discomfort from the pressure of his grasp. She didn't realize that she wasn't alone until the woman spoke.

"But he loves you, right?" Corinna's voice was soft, but full of innuendo. Épiphanie turned away, because she understood so much more than the other woman did.

"I never said that," she replied.

"You ain't have to. It's obvious you in love with _him_ ," the older woman said.

"Weren't you in love with Mr. Delhomme once? When he told you that Miss Amelia couldn't love him because she was in so much pain over her four dead babies? Even the last time, when he told you that you could keep your boy? You loved him…until you realized that you weren't Sarah, and none of your boys were Isaiah." Épiphanie turned back to face her. Corinna was stoic, but the tears that ran down her face answered the witch clearly. "I'll bet he said the same thing to Callie, and Marie, _and_ Sarah. I know these men can't be trusted, Miss Corinna, and I may be young, but I'm no fool. I'm not the woman you think I am. I let Lucien have his way because I _choose_ to. However, what you think you saw—it isn't what it really is."

Corinna squared her shoulders and gave Épiphanie a haughty up-and-down look. "I used to tell myself that too. If it make each day just a little bit easier for a while, you let yourself believe anything." She moved to the door and stopped just before she stepped out. "Until you just can't believe it no more." She left without another word.

Épiphanie was surprised when the woman returned less than an hour later with biscuits and slightly cold grits.

"Just 'cause your blues ain't like mine don't mean I gotta let you starve," the woman said.

"Thank you ma'am." Their hands brushed as Épiphanie took the bowl. She smiled broadly at the image she saw. "You should know, Miss Corinna, your boy Efrem—" The woman stiffened and looked at Épiphanie warily. The witch set the bowl on the bedside table and took both the woman's hands. "Efrem is a free man. He's an apprentice cooper."

"You—you're a?" the woman stammered. Épiphanie winked.

"They can ride all day and night, but Delhomme won't find those runners either. They're already home."

* * *

The shadows of the window mullions stretched across the room before Draco returned with Delhomme and son. Marcel was still cursing loudly as he dismounted his horse. Épiphanie stood inside the open window and listened.

"Gibousset, you go up to St. James Parish and see what you can find out. Marchand, you and Bordelais' man ride on up to Baton Rouge and round up some boys to ride up into Arkansas! Tell 'em it's 100 dollars a head! Go on, now!"

Épiphanie watched as three men galloped off at speed. A few minutes later, Draco entered the room, his face pale and drawn. She rushed over to him and took his hands.

"How bad was it?" she asked.

"Of course we didn't find them, but they accosted every black person we came across." Draco looked ill, and he began to tremble. "It was like—like being with—"

Épiphanie pulled him close, pressing herself against him. She slid her arms up his back and massaged the nape of his neck. He buried his face in her hair and inhaled deeply. He drew his wand and touched the tip of it to his temple. As the silvery wisp of memory stretched forth, his trembling slowly subsided. He cast it out into the fading light and wrapped his arms around her. They stood there for several minutes, until they heard the sound of hoof beats approaching the house.

"What's going on now?" she muttered. Draco shrugged. He led her out to the veranda and looked down to see two men dismounting their horses.

"Those men weren't with us," Draco said. They descended the staircase as the visitors approached the Delhomme men.

"What may I do for you gentlemen?" the elder Delhomme asked.

"We are here looking to collect on a number of debts incurred by Mr. Marius Delhomme," answered the taller of the two men. He had a scar along the side of his stubble-covered face. His suit was faded, but Épiphanie noticed the fine watch chain hanging from his vest and the gold signet ring on his little finger. She nudged Draco, and he nodded. The slight bulge in his coat practically screamed the fact that he was armed.

"We have been commissioned by a number of establishments in Orleans Parish to settle those debts immediately." The second man was more finely dressed and took a slip of paper from his coat pocket. "We are authorized to accept payment in cash or property." He passed the paper to Marcel, who scanned it, his face growing redder by the moment.

"Explain yourself, boy!" He waved the paper in Marius' face. "You _said_ you had it under control!" he yelled. " _Goddamn_ you, Marius! I just lost more than a thousand dollars in niggers overnight! Just fucking vanished in to thin air! Now _this!_ Hell, boy!"

"If I may, Delhomme," Draco spoke up. The men all turned to where he stood with Épiphanie. "How much is the debt?"

"Three thousand dollars," said the well-dressed collector. Draco gave Marius an exasperated look.

" _Really_ , my friend! Clearly, the roulette wheel is a cruel mistress!" he declared.

"So is the card table," said the tall man with a snort.

"Nevertheless, I believe I have the resources to cover the debt, if that is agreeable to you gentlemen."

"Cash or property only," said the well-dressed collector. He eyed Épiphanie with interest. She frowned and moved closer to Draco.

"Lucien—" Marcel began.

"Of course, there is one thing, I would like to request…in exchange for this favor." Draco called upon the cool and aloof tone that he recalled Lucius using in matters of business, whenever he had the upper hand. Marcel eyed him suspiciously. Marius spoke up.

"Name it."

"I understand the Negro, Isaiah is quite a competent farrier. I could use someone like him."

"Done!" Marius exclaimed.

"I beg your pardon!" Marcel's voice was filled with indignation. "Even if I was willing to sell, how do you plan to get him back to England?"

"I think that would be none of your concern. As I told you, I have my ways."

"No." Delhomme shook his head. "Not Isaiah. No. Perhaps you might prefer one of the boys from the mill."

"Either I have the Negro, Isaiah, or there's no deal."

"Daddy!" Marius protested.

"The clock is ticking, Delhomme. We are very busy men." The tall man's hand slipped beneath his coat.

"The choice is yours," said Draco. He squeezed Épiphanie's hand.

"I—" Marcel began.

 _Confundo!_

Épiphanie opened her fan with a flourish. The collectors flicked their gazes towards her for a moment. She coughed and hid her face. They looked away.

Marcel Delhomme shuddered. "It's a deal."

"Excellent!" said Draco. "Why don't you draw up the agreement while I round up these gentlemen's money."

* * *

"No! No!" Sarah smashed the dish she was holding, and the pie she had been preparing splattered on the wooden floor. "He promised! He promised me!" she wailed, her knees buckling. Tessa and Corinna helped her to sit on one of the benches at the table.

"Miss Sarah, it will be okay, I promise!" Épiphanie knelt down beside her. "Lucien did it to protect him. Marius was going to trade him for the money to cover a portion of his debt."

"He's all I got left! You _can't_ let him take him!" Sarah grabbed Épiphanie's arms desperately. "You say he listen to you! Y-you talk to Marse Malveaux! Make him change his mind! You _make him_ change his mind!" Tears streamed down the older woman's face. "Please don't let him take my baby! Marse Marcel _promised! He's his son!_ "

"Miss Sarah, listen to me! _Listen_ to me!" _Muffliato!_ "I can't let him stay. Isaiah wants to leave."

"No!" Sarah sobbed.

"Yes, he does. He was going to run with the others, but we stopped him. If he had gone, you know Delhomme would have taken it out on you. Lucien promised to free him if he stayed. I'll make sure that he honors that promise."

"How do you know?"

"Because Lucien cannot lie to me. He's never broken a promise to me. I will make sure of it." She squeezed the woman's hands.

Sarah looked into the young woman's bright, dark eyes. Images floated into her consciousness. She saw Isaiah wearing a heavy smith's apron and standing at the side of a pretty young woman holding a baby. She saw young children, in clothes such as she had never seen before, entering a school. She saw a large family gathering for a picture. So many well-dressed young people and old people all bore some resemblance to her Isaiah.

 _Your son's children and their children's children will be free! Delhomme will owe a debt to_ them, _and it_ will _be paid!_

"You can see all that?" the woman asked in wonder.

"Didn't you?" Épiphanie smiled.


	5. Threat

Épiphanie pushed the lever of the pump and took up the dipper from the bucket that she'd just filled with water, lifting it to her lips as she waited for Draco to emerge from the house. Isaiah was in the cook house making his farewells with his mother.

"I guess you think you're pretty smart don't you?" came the drawling voice behind her. "Wiley little sang mêlé."

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about sir." She dropped the dipper back into the bucket and began to walk towards the waiting carriage where the trunk was being loaded.

"You orchestrated this whole thing. I saw the way you flirted with Isaiah. You're just a whore like all the rest of them. Black bitches can't get enough! You'll give Malveaux what he wants and then sneak away to your buck nigger for more!" Marius taunted as he followed her. When he caught up, he spun her around.

"Don't _touch_ me!" Épiphanie glared at him.

* * *

"Bad luck that your men weren't successful in rounding up your property, Delhomme," said Draco.

"Yes, well. I suppose I should be grateful to you for settling yet another debt. Two thousand is a hell of a lot to pay to just come out of it with only Isaiah. Sarah's going to have a fit! I'll have to give her a pair of earrings or some such." He waved absently. "When do you expect to have a decision about the bagasse?"

A strong, cold gust of wind blew into the second-story room, scattering the papers on Delhomme's desk around the room. The French doors swung wildly before slamming shut. Draco rolled his eyes and stepped out onto the veranda just in time to see Marius standing over Épiphanie, his hand raised to strike her. Across the lawn, Isaiah, Sarah, Corinna and Tessa ran in their direction.

Marius grabbed Épiphanie roughly and pulled her into a crushing, painful kiss. She shoved him away and slapped him.

"Take your filthy hands off me!" she snarled. Marius backhanded her so forcefully, that she stumbled backwards, stepping on the hem of her skirt and falling to the ground, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth. He took a step towards her, his hand raised to strike her again.

"Marse, no!" Isaiah shouted. Marius looked back. Click. Click. He turned to see the young woman holding a pistol in each hand.

"You hit me again; I'll drop your ass where you stand!" Her eyes were narrowed. And her voice was low.

"Épiphanie!" Draco snapped. "Stand down!" He raced down the curved stair and pulled her to her feet. Épiphanie backed into a position behind her husband, guns still pointed.

"What's the meaning of this, Marius?" Delhomme demanded.

"She's gone crazy! Pulled them pistols outta her skirts!" Marius exclaimed. "Reign in your whore, Malveaux!"

"If you call her a whore again, I will _not_ be responsible for my actions, sir!" Draco growled. His wand hand twitched. "Isaiah! Help the lady into the carriage!"

"Yassuh!" Isaiah took Épiphanie's arm. She climbed into the carriage, keeping one pistol leveled on Marius, settling in her seat with a malevolent glare.

"Malveaux!" Marcel reached into his coat.

"Ah-ah-ah!" Draco waved a finger as Épiphanie turned the second weapon on him. "As you recall, Delhomme, I _did_ tell you that this one is possessed of a certain skill set peculiar to most. Your son has repaid my generosity with insult and damage to my personal property. Any further action will necessitate a demand for satisfaction. That is a challenge, you would do well, _not_ to accept." Draco climbed into the carriage beside Épiphanie. "Isaiah, we are ready to depart."

Isaiah slapped the reins and the carriage began to move. Épiphanie continued to hold the two slavers at gunpoint until they were out of sight.

"Where to, suh?" Isaiah asked when they reached the road.

"New Orleans," Draco replied. He placed his hand on his wife's arm and Épiphanie settled into her seat. " _Pistols_ , my beloved?"

"Well, it worked, didn't it? You should be proud of me, boo. Normally, any man who put his hands on me like that would already be dead, or at least severely wounded."

"That is true," he draped his arm over her shoulders. "You do continually amaze me."

"They're not loaded anyway. I don't even know how to use these ancient things." She vanished the pistols just as Isaiah nervously looked over his shoulder. He let out a gasp. It did not go unnoticed.

"Stop the carriage, Isaiah," Draco commanded. The young man pulled on the reins and the carriage rolled to a somewhat rough stop. Draco and Épiphanie got out. Isaiah looked at them apprehensively. He twitched, the reins still in his hands as he battled with whether to take his chances and run, or discover what these people wanted with him.

"It's alright, Isaiah. We're here to help you. I promise," Épiphanie said. "Come on down. We should talk."

"Who are you?" he asked, as he hesitantly stepped down. "Y-you ain't no slave is you?" He pressed his back against the carriage, hands outstretched in front of him.

"No, I'm not." She took a step toward him. He edged away.

"Oh, Lawd, Jesus! I don't want none 'a this! I'se been a good man, all my life! I don't mess with no hoodoo conjurin'!"

"Isaiah, listen to me. It's true that Malveaux and I have magic, but we aren't here to hurt you. I swear. You wanted to be free, so we helped you to be free. It's fate."

"I—I don't wanna go to hell. P-please. I'll go back. J-just don't take me to the crossroads!"

"What crossroads?" Draco asked.

"Now is _not_ a good time for me to explain that, baby. Just—" she held up a hand to him and turned back to Isaiah. "Isaiah, that's not what we want. Baron Samedi has no part in this, okay? And you can't go back now; Marius would probably kill you, or at the very least beat you within an inch of your life. You _are_ a free man. As soon as we get to New Orleans, Dra—Lucien will make sure of it. We used our magic to help the others get away too. That's why Delhomme and his men couldn't find them. They _won't_ find them either."

"How you gon' help me? What I got to do?"

"All you have to do is be you," Draco said. "Don't tell anyone what you have just seen. Go along with what we do, and no one will know."

"This time tomorrow, you will be Isaiah Delhomme, free man of color." She smiled and touched his hand. She glanced at Draco. "There is one problem, though. Darling, no free negro would be so humbly dressed."

Draco transfigured the man's rough cotton ensemble of a simple shirt, trousers and vest into a pair of fine breeches, waistcoat and frock. A hat appeared in Épiphanie's hand and she placed it atop Isaiah's dark curls. Isaiah examined the new clothes and looked at the pair in astonishment. They smiled.

"Now then, once we arrive in the city, I'm sure we can find a forge in need of an experienced farrier."

"Isaiah, your son's children, and their children's children _will_ live out your legacy. It will be a proud one—I promised your mother."


	6. Tremé

They arrived in the city and set about the process of building Isaiah Delhomme—free man of color. With a few discreetly placed spells, Isaiah soon had written documentation of his status, a place to live, and a respectable job in a blacksmith forge, suitable clothing, and money with which to start out.

The former slave was still wary that he had somehow compromised his soul in dealing with people who could do magic. Épiphanie took him by the arm as they strolled up Rampart Street to the neat suburb for blacks in the back of town.

"Isaiah, Monsieur Malveaux and I require nothing of you, except that you live a good and honest life from here forwards. Make Miss Sarah proud, and set an example for your future generations. They will need that. As to your eternal soul—you seem like a good man, and that is important. Were you taught your prayers and novenas?"

"Oh, absolutely! Marse— _Mr._ Delhomme—" he faltered. "That don't even sound right."

"Because it isn't right, Isaiah. You know who Delhomme really is. And don't think he didn't care even a little bit about you. You're older than Marius. You're the only one he bothered to keep."

"He still _sold_ me in the end. He sold me to _protect_ that sorry white trash son of his," Isaiah said, bitterly.

"He _sold_ you into _freedom,_ Isaiah. We don't know if he realized that or not, but he did. You keep the name Delhomme. Make it a respectable one for generations to come." They had reached the small wood house where he rented a room, and Isaiah gave her a slight bow before shaking Draco's hand.

"I want to thank y'all, suh. I _do_ want to make my mama proud." Épiphanie slipped her hand into Draco's arm and smiled. Isaiah looked at her curiously. "They look at you, you know."

"I don't follow." She was so accustomed to people looking at her, Épiphanie barely noticed any more, unless their thoughts gave away nefarious motives. This old city of the past was much more rough and raucous than the New Orleans of her millennial life. Everyone had something to do and somewhere to go, even if it was just up to the brothel; their minds appeared to be focused on things other than her. Épiphanie was grateful, for her own thoughts were constantly occupied with how they could get back to the present time, and who might be able to help them. She was busy searching for signs of magic.

"The people here." He replied. "I heard 'em talkin' at the saloon the other night. The womenfolk say you look like her—the matchmaker—say her name Marie Paris. They say she got magic—like you." Épiphanie and Draco looked at one another. Draco spoke first.

"Well, that's interesting. Perhaps we might have the opportunity to meet her before we leave the city. In the meantime, I fear we must part ways, my friend. I wish you well." He nodded, and touched his hat. Isaiah did the same.

"I hope to hear the name Isaiah Delhomme in the future, with good standing." Épiphanie curtsied. When he nodded, she took him into a warm embrace. Draco discreetly pointed his wand.

 _Obliviate!_

Isaiah smiled vaguely as she released the embrace, as if he was attempting to remember something, but shrugged and gave it up.

"Good luck, Isaiah," Draco said.

"Make your mother proud," said Épiphanie.


	7. The Queen of New Orleans

"That's it, isn't it?" Draco asked. They stood across the street from the neat cottage at 152 Rue St. Ann.

"I know this house in my sleep. The only thing different about the Vieux Carré of our time is its appearance. That's the house." Épiphanie let out a long sigh.

"What is it, my love?" Draco gave her a look of concern.

"Isaiah said I look just like her. People have mistaken me for her already. I didn't even think of that. Draco, bad things happen to people who meddle with time don't they?"

"Well, you could go in under a glamour," he suggested.

"Ma Mère is a very powerful witch. Even with a glamour, she might suspect that I am an imposter. And I have the wand." Épiphanie worried her lip.

"Okay, well. We have to do something. The longer we stay, the more likely we are to disrupt history. I say just go in as you are. If she can help us, she'll figure it out anyway as soon as we show her the time turner. Just don't show her the wand."

"I guess you have a point."

The door of the house opened. A statuesque young woman about their age stood surveying the street as she puffed a cigar. Her hair was covered with a brightly colored cloth that was elaborately tied atop her head. Her dark-colored dress was simple, and she wore a shawl draped over her shoulders. Her eyes landed on the couple standing across the street and held the gaze of the elegantly dressed woman. She nodded slightly and withdrew into the house, leaving the door ajar.

Épiphanie found herself caught in the woman's gaze as if looking at her own reflection in the mirror. This was the same woman who'd taught her nearly everything she knew about magic—her ancestor—youthful and in the flesh. When the woman nodded her acknowledgement and went back into the house, suddenly, she felt rooted to the spot as if under a Stickfast hex. Draco took her elbow, and she was finally able to will her feet to move, stepping nervously into the street.

* * *

The house was darker than Épiphanie was accustomed to it being—given that it was being actively lived in. The air was thick with the pungent aromas of spices and perfumed oils. They moved to the sitting room where the woman sat in the side chair Épiphanie knew her to favor.

"I wondered how long it would take for you to come around. You surely caused a stir 'round here."

"Madame Paris, it is an honor." Épiphanie nodded respectfully and offered her a bouquet of witch hazel, agrimony, and white lilacs.

"Je vous connais." The woman gave Épiphanie a pointed look.

"I—well, um…"

"I received divine insight of a girl, far in the future. She stood there on the other side of the street, just like you."

Épiphanie exchanged looks with Draco.

"Do you know the girl, Madame?"

"Intelligent, n'est-ce pas, ma chère? (Clever, aren't you, my dear?)" She carefully stubbed out her cigar.

"Well, I had a rather unconventional education, to say the least."

 _You know who I am then?_

"I know you, yes." Marie smiled. "Come," she beckoned them to follow her to the back of the house and offered them both a meal of curried meat and vegetables.

"Eat," she commanded and took a seat at the table, fanning herself with her hand. "How did you do it?" she asked.

"My gods, this is delicious!" Draco exclaimed. "I don't think I've had this meat before. What is it?"

"I'm glad you like it. It's curried goat." She smiled.

"Goat?" Draco paused, his fork halfway to his mouth, and looked up at her.

"Goat." A mirthful expression flitted across her face. "Eat, sha."

After a moment, Draco shrugged and resumed eating, heartily cleaning his dish. Épiphanie shook her head.

"He's an aristocrat," Épiphanie explained.

"Of course." Marie waved her hand and the shutters at the windows closed. "How did you manage it? No one has been able to leap through time like that before. Not in their own bodies."

Draco retrieved the time turners and placed them on the table.

"Are you familiar with these?" he asked. Marie picked up one of the artefacts and examined it carefully. She shook her head.

"I've never seen anything like this before. How does it work?"

"They're time-turners. These two are the only ones of their kind which let you travel anywhere in time." He pointed to Nott's time-turner. "We think this one is the original prototype. See how the metal is inferior? We came into possession of it by accident. This one," He pointed to his own time-turner. "…was given to me by my father. As you can see, it's slightly different, and the metal is much higher quality. With traditional time-turners, which have a limit of about five hours, one simply has to turn it the number of hours one wishes to travel. These are true time-turners; one certainly doesn't turn it hundreds of times. It would take forever to get anywhere."

"What he's leaving out, is that we hadn't intended to travel in time. We had no idea that they were in our possession until we wound up here. Apparently, they had been placed inside our portkey."

"I see." Marie lightly fingered each item and drew her hand back. "I can feel the magic in this one." She pointed to Draco's time-turner.

"Then it's not broken?" asked Draco. "I wonder why it wouldn't work when we attempted to go back."

"It isn't broken, no. Turning it is not the key, I don't believe. You said that it was inside your portkey?"

"Yes. Both of them were," replied Épiphanie.

The priestess tapped her lips thoughtfully. "Magical objects should never be paired unless they are designed to be so. It is possible that the travel charm disrupted the time charm. You had _three_ of them together—one of which was broken."

"Do you think that if we placed the time-turner inside another portkey, it will take us home?"

"It is possible. This is very distinct magic, and very unstable. You could create an alternate time line and even change the course of one's life path."

"Such as…meeting you," Épiphanie murmured.

"Perhaps, ma chere. Mais, je vous connaissais avant que vous vous connaissiez (But I knew you before you knew yourself)."

"So, wait—you _knew_ that we would meet—you had already met me when I saw you—well your—for the first time?" The young witch stared at her ancestor in astonishment.

"I suppose I did. I'm not dead yet, but the vision cannot be denied." She smiled. There was a knock at the door. They quickly put away the time-turners. "Stay here."

Épiphanie groaned in frustration. "This is crazy!" She rested her hand on her chin and watched her husband help himself to another dish of curry. "Wow. You're really going in over there. Seriously?"

"'Sgood!" Draco mumbled, mouth full.

"My _God!_ Draco Malfoy! Did I _really_ just witness you talking with a mouth full of food?"

"Shu-up!" he replied. She snickered. He swallowed and neatly wiped his mouth before he spoke again. "We helped that group get away, and we bought Isaiah's freedom. Do you think that we altered their life paths?"

"I don't know. We—" Marie entered the kitchen again.

"Ma Cher, I need your help." She didn't stop, but kept walking out of the door and into the yard.

"I'm sorry?"

"You need her help? Why?" Draco asked when the woman returned, holding an egg. She went to the pie safe and took a jar of honey and a sack of flour. Épiphanie's eyes widened and she stood immediately.

"I'll have to tell you later," Épiphanie replied. "Madame, I'm not properly dressed."

"I assume you know your way around this house. Go find something." Épiphanie went in search of a change of clothes and the other woman took the items she had fetched and left the room. Draco followed, and watched as Marie crossed into the small room where he recalled Épiphanie and the woman's ghost convening with anxious spirits when The Servants had attempted to take over the city, a few years ago in their future past. He saw an anxious black woman kneeling next to a man who appeared to be writhing on the floor.

"Draco. You can't stay here. This is not for you." He turned to see Épiphanie dressed from head to toe in white, her hair covered in an elaborately tied swath of white silk. I will meet you in our room when I can."

"I can't just _leave_ you, beloved."

"I'm safe, my love. If I can't trust Ma Mère—even in the past, I can't trust anyone. I will send my patronus if I need you. Promise." She gave him a kiss. "Why don't you look through those papers and research to see if there's anything that we might have missed. See if anything has changed since we read it last. That might indicate whether we have altered any life paths."

Draco sighed reluctantly, and acquiesced. "Promise you'll send me a patronus immediately if anything goes wrong."

"I promise."

* * *

Draco gave her one last apprehensive look before he stepped out into the early evening. He made his way back to the guest house and began to go back over the family trees first, but found little of interest. The dates of death for all those involved did not appear to have changed. He began to read the articles concerning the lawsuit again, and discovered that the plaintiffs bringing the suit were in fact descendants of Isaiah—one of the names of the plaintiffs being Isaiah Delhomme IV. He breathed a sigh of relief that their actions seemed in keeping with the history which they already knew.

The room had grown dark while he read, the sun having gone down shortly after he entered the room they had rented in the neat Faubourg Marigny guest house. Draco looked at his watch and wondered what could be keeping Épiphanie. He stepped out onto the balcony to watch the goings on in the street below. Music floated up from a tavern down the block, and here and there people strolled along alone or in couples. He noted that many of the couples were mixed race—white men in the company of black women of generally fair complexion. All of the women were finely dressed. He assumed that these were the octoroon and quadroon women who were fancied for plaçage relationships. Draco realized that is why the landlord barely batted an eye when he entered the establishment with Épiphanie. He hadn't originally given it much thought, since race was barely a factor in the wizarding world—he had been taught much more about the importance of blood status during his upbringing. The room filled with bright white light, and he noticed a few people on the street looking up to the windows. He quickly entered the room and waved his wand to close the shutters. The large dragon patronus filled the room, folding in its wings.

"All is well, love. See you soon." Épiphanie's voice appeared as gentle and melodious as always as the patronus dissolved. He breathed another sigh of relief and returned to the desk to continue reading.

* * *

Épiphanie waved her wand to lace up the corset and pulled on her dress, flicking the wand once more to fasten the row of buttons up the back and slipped her wand into the small handbag that she had transfigured from a scrap of fabric when they first arrived.

"So, you wear my vévé."

The young witch turned around to face her ancestor, still slightly unnerved to be looking into a near mirror image.

"I—I don't know how I came by it," she replied. The other woman smiled and advanced into the room. She brushed Épiphanie's hair from her face and bade her turn, whereupon she began to plait the long curls.

"Ma chere. It is clear that fate has brought you here. There must be a reason for it. It has not escaped my notice that you chose not to share any information concerning my future or demise. I don't know whether that is by chance or design. As I said, I had already received a divine insight regarding you. It is gratifiant de savoir that I will have children at some point in the future, and that my magic will continue and even be a source of protection for you."

"Did you know that I would be able to communicate with Pyé?" Épiphanie asked.

"He requested you specifically."

"How would he even know to find me here—in this time?"

"Papa Damballah is the highest of all the Lwa. Why wouldn't he be able to find his children?"

"So we really can't leave this era because we _do_ have tasks that _will_ alter the life paths of others if we don't complete them?" Épiphanie shook her head. "Wow. Draco is going to have a coronary." She sighed.

"Perhaps a prayer to St. Christopher is in order?" the woman suggested. Épiphanie nodded and they knelt on the floor, crossing themselves and joining hands.

"In the name of the Father, The Son, and The Holy Spirit. Amen. Dear Saint Christopher, protect me today in all my travels along the road's way. Give your warning sign if danger is near so that I may stop while the path is clear. Be at my window and direct me through when the vision blurs from out of the blue. Carry me safely to my destined place, like you carried Christ in your close embrace. In the name of the Father, The Son, and The Holy Spirit. Amen." They crossed themselves again.

There was a knock at the door.

"Ah, that will be _my_ Englishman." Marie smiled.

" _Your_ Englishman?"

"Mais oui, ma chère. Monsieur Ollivander. I do believe he is a wandmaker."

Épiphanie furiously attempted to school her features before the woman faced her again.

"I should go." Épiphanie drew on her gloves, thinking to herself that the clothes of the past were nearly as superfluous as the wizarding robes her pureblood friends were so reticent to give up. "I'll take the rear, so your guest won't be startled by your doppelganger."

"My what?"

"Your _ka—_ spirit double."

"Oh, yes. Au revoir, ma petite reflet de mon destin (reflection of my future). I await our reunion in tomorrows." The ancestor embraced the descendant.

"Au revoir…ma mère."

Épiphanie stepped out into the evening and strolled up Rue St. Ann towards the Burgundy Street apartment that Draco had rented. She fanned herself lightly and cast her eyes down whenever she approached an unaccompanied male. This gesture was successful in fending off any who might have accosted her until she was about halfway between St. Philip and Ursuline.

"And just where do you think you're going, gal?" The tall, red-faced man blocked her path.

"Je vous demande pardon, monsieur. Je reviens là où j'appartiens (I beg your pardon, sir. I am returning to where I belong)."

"You have papers?"

"Monsieur, I am expected. Please allow me to pass." Épiphanie silently began to count as she opened her purse. It would not do well to lose control of her magic. _One…two…three…four…_

She was struck hard on the back of her head and the man in front of her became a fuzzy blur before everything went black.


	8. Contraband

_**There are racial epithets used in this section of the story. Please understand that it is only for historical accuracy. I am, myself, African-American and do not otherwise condone such language._

* * *

Bleary eyed, Draco set aside the newspaper articles he was sifting through. The amount of research Épiphanie had done on _The Whispers_ reminded him of the mountains of parchments that Hermione had always seemed to be buried in at school. He took out the time-turners and set them on the desk, adjusting the lamp wick in order to better examine the two. He picked up Nott's time-turner and inspected it closely, but could not find anything remarkable about it. It appeared almost identical to a typical time-turner, save for the tarnished metal. Careful not to turn the discs and rings, for fear that it just might work when he didn't want it to, he gently set it on the desk and picked up the time-turner that Lucius had given him.

Draco wracked his mind to recall if his father had ever given him any special instructions regarding the time-turner. He knew that Lucius had purchased the artefact directly from Saul Croaker and had given it to Draco shortly before Voldemort took over The Manor, instructing him to make _absolutely sure_ that the Dark Lord would not discover its existence. At the time, he had considered hiding it in the Room of Requirement, but feared that another student might happen upon it. It was while he wandered the abandoned suites of the sprawling mansion, looking for a place where he could hide himself from the Death Eaters for any moment of peace, that he found himself in Brutus Malfoy's chamber. He remembered hiding in the massive wardrobe as a small boy, and in a fit of nostalgia had crawled into it once again. Afraid of the dark as a little boy, Draco had never closed the closet door, but as a teen desperate for complete concealment, he pulled the doors tight. It was then that the passage revealed itself to him, and ultimately the chamber that he and his circle of friends used for their private encounters. He immediately discovered its similarity to the Room of Requirement, and it was here that he left the time-turner to be forgotten until that holiday after Lucius' demise, when Draco decided to inventory The Manor, and came upon the artefact once more.

"I should have left you there, or destroyed you, for all the fucking trouble you've caused!" he muttered to himself. He went to the window and looked out, wondering what was taking Épiphanie so long. Draco began to pace back and forth as he gazed at the rings of the time-turner. It was then that he made a discovery.

* * *

There was a rough bag over her head and her hands were shackled. Her head was pounding, and she was certain from the warm wet feeling at her collar, that she was bleeding from whatever she had been hit with. Someone was standing close to her and speaking.

"She's rather well-dressed for a runaway. Are you certain you haven't taken one of those gens du couleur libres?"

"Who's to say she didn't steal the clothes? She's light-skinned. Probably tried to pass for one of those Creole ladies," the man said. Épiphanie knew that voice. She tried to shake off the haze in her mind. It couldn't be the man she thought it was.

"Well, get her up. She's bleedin' on my rug. Take that sack off her head so I can get a look at her. Tobias, help Monsieur Delhomme."

"No!" Épiphanie gasped. She struggled when two sets of hands seized upon her and pulled her roughly to her feet and the hood was snatched away.

Although the light in the room was relatively dim, the sudden light, coupled with her head wound intensified the pain and made her squint momentarily. The woman grasped her chin and turned her head.

"You may as well be still, child. Carrying on will only get you cut." She held a small dagger against Épiphanie's cheek.

"Marius Delhomme!" Épiphanie growled.

"You _know_ this nigger? I thought you said she was a runaway. This isn't one of your daddy's girls is she, Marius? If you don't have documentation that she is available for trade, I'll not be bothered with this. You are perfectly aware that slaves are not legally liable to seizure for debt, and _I know_ perfectly well that the only reason you are here is because my late husband provided you with the funds to pay your gambling debts on more than one occasion."

"I _do not_ belong to Marcel _or_ Marius Delhomme, Madame!" Épiphanie snatched away from his grasp, but the movement served to knick her face with the knife that the woman held. "Sss!"

"You shut your mouth!" the woman said. "Tobias, you let her loose again, and you won't have hands to hold _anything_ with!"

"Yes, Miss Delphine!" The slave who had helped Marius pull her to her feet grabbed both of Épiphanie's arms and pulled them back until the shackles which held her wrists in front of her gave resistance and dug into her skin.

"Now, _where_ did she come from, Marius? Jean and I have run a clean operation here."

"A _clean_ operation, Madame Blanque? Your husband took part in over 300 slave transfers from the time he arrived in country, yet you own no large farm! You accept property without paperwork in exchange for paying down debts! _Now_ you want to question someone!" Marius raged.

"Do you know who I _am?_ " The woman hissed, stepping menacingly close to him. "Do you _know_ what happens to people who cross me? _No one_ challenges me! I can ruin your family for generations to come with a single word."

Marius gave her a baleful glare. "You think I care about my family? My father has already sent word to his solicitor to discuss changing his will. He actually tried to bargain to save my goddamned quadroon brother when _her_ owner wanted to buy him!"

"So she _is_ contraband! Marius!" Delphine accused. Marius scoffed.

"I know you've got buyers ready to put her on a boat tonight, before he can even work out that she didn't run away. Just look at her, she's prime merchandise! Light complexion. Long hair. Unusually pliant under her master's command. He only had to snap his fingers and she was on her knees. Hell, the bitch pulled a pistol out of her petticoat just to protect him!"

Épiphanie felt slightly weak from the loss of blood, and closed her eyes to concentrate. Marius had kidnapped her in order to sell her to Delphine Blanque LaLaurie. How did she keep finding herself in these predicaments? Simply vanishing the shackles and apparating away was out of the question. She already knew the woman was a witch, having been told as much by Ignace Potter a few years ago, in their future past. If the woman's legend and the actual experiences she'd had with her descendants were anything to go by, Épiphanie knew she was likely going to have to fight or finesse her way out, and hope not to change the course of history in doing so.

"Is that so?" the woman's interest was piqued now. "And just _to whom_ does she belong?"

"An Englishman by the name of Malveaux. Apparently, he's a nobleman looking to diversify his business interests. He approached Daddy about purchasing his surplus bagasse to use in making paper pulp."

"A nobleman? Interesting. How old is he?" she asked, her demeanor changing to curiosity.

"Looks to be right around my age, maybe even a bit younger. She can't be more than twenty herself."

"Hmm. Marius, my dear. Why don't you go on downstairs and have yourself a drink. I'll examine the girl and decide what to do with her." Delphine smiled seductively at the younger man, tracing her fingertip along his jaw. "Go on, then." Marius left the room and she turned her attention back to Épiphanie.

"She a witch, miss. You do well to do what she say!" Tobias whispered to her.

"Now then, my sweet, we're not going to have any more of that sass are we? I'd hate to mark you up before I can get fair price on your pretty little brown ass. No pistols down below are there?" She grabbed Épiphanie's skirts and lifted them, shoving her hand between the young woman's thighs.

Épiphanie turned her head away, biting her lip so hard, she thought she would draw blood.

"Turn her around." The young slave pushed her around to face him. His gaze was apologetic as the woman slid her knife up the back of her dress and corset and the garments fell around her waist. The young man averted his eyes.

 _Emancipare!_ The shackles vanished from her wrists. She silently threw up a shield charm as the woman screamed for Marius. "When I say so, you _run!"_ Épiphanie hissed into Tobias' ear.

"Cru—" Delphine slid her wand from the folds of her skirt.

 _Expelliarmus!_ Épiphanie caught the wand and spun around, firing a knockback jinx which threw the woman across the room.

"What the hell is going on?" Marius rushed into the room.

"You brought me one of Marie Paris' devotees? Are you insane?" Delphine screeched getting to her feet.

Épiphanie summoned her purse and grabbed Tobias' hand, running for the door. She heard a deafening bang and Tobias' hand pulled away from hers as he fell dead, Marius still holding the smoking pistol aimed in their direction.

 _Flagrante!_

"Dammit!" Marius dropped the pistol, believing himself burned by the flint striker.

"Get her!" Delphine screeched. " _Expelliarmus!_ "

Épiphanie gripped the woman's wand so tightly that it spun her to the side.

" _Reducto!_ " The woman's wand disintegrated in Épiphanie's hands. She hurled a stunner at Delphine and charged at Marius, throwing them both through the doorway onto the landing at the top of the stairs. She rolled off of him and scrambled to her feet. Marius grabbed her ankle.

"Oh no you don't!" he pulled her back towards him as she crawled towards the staircase, kicking back at him. She summoned her wand.

" _Diffindo!_ " the severing charm sliced cleanly through the flesh at his throat, sending blood spraying in every direction. " _Tergeo!_ " Épiphanie siphoned the blood from her face and clothes as she ran down the stairs. " _Reparo!_ " She waved her wand over her back, and the dress came together. She threw open the door as the witch upstairs began to scream hysterically. " _Expulso!"_ Épiphanie cried, hoping against hope that the spell would be enough to sever any wards protecting the town house. As soon as her foot hit the crumbled sidewalk, she apparated away.

* * *

Draco impatiently stalked the room in anticipation of Épiphanie's return. It seemed to be taking an eternity for her to arrive. He sat down at the desk once more, and busied himself reading some more of the research on the Delhomme family. He unfolded a newspaper article that was dated for the next day.

 _Assault and Murder in Vieux Carre_

 _Esteemed widow of the late Jean Baptiste Blanque, Madame Delphine Lopez-Blanque, was viciously attacked in her home at 409 Rue Royale, during the late evening hours between nine and ten p.m. by one of her servants. Mme. Blanque reports that she was set upon by the servant Tobias and a young negress whom she assumes was let into the house by the valet. The two negroes were in the process of attempting to escape the house after the assault when her cries were heard by Mr. Marius Delhomme, who was visiting at the Blanque residence at the time._

 _Mr. Delhomme responded to the disturbance on the second floor of the home and fired a shot, fatally wounding Tobias. Before he could subdue the woman, she attempted to flee down the stairs. According to Mme. Blanque, the two scuffled, and at some point the woman produced a knife or other sharp object and sliced the man's throat before making her escape. Witnesses report hearing the terrified screams of the widow and responded to the fray, but Mr. Delhomme was beyond help. The negress is said to have been the property of one Lucien—_

There was a pop, and Draco turned away from the article as Épiphanie landed in the room. He leapt to his feet as she staggered to the bed and sat down heavily. Her face was ashen and there was blood matted in her hair.

"We have to go!" she panted.

"Beloved! What happened? Delhomme—did you—" Draco demanded. He moved his wand back and forth over the wound, murmuring a few incantations. Épiphanie sent all of their belongings back into the trunk, transforming it back into a rucksack.

"We have to get out of here! They're going to be looking for me! I think someone saw me leave the house and that crazy bitch was screaming down the heavens! Delhomme got the drop on me and then tried to _sell_ me to Delphine LaLaurie!" she exclaimed. "He shot her servant when I disarmed her and tried to save him, then he—I didn't have a choice! I—" She looked at the dried blood on her hands. They heard a cacophony of voices down below and moving closer. Within seconds, there was pounding at the door.

"Malveaux! Mr. Lucien Malveaux, open the door!"

" _Muffliato!_ Shit!" Épiphanie swore. She cast a disillusionment charm and began to crawl under the bed.

"No! If I have to leave, you won't be able to go with me!" Draco stopped her. "Get into the bag!"

"What?" Épiphanie looked at him incredulously.

"Trust me! The extension charm! It will work! _Get in!_ " he insisted. Épiphanie shook her head in disbelief, but she dashed over to the bag and set one foot inside, searching for purchase. It felt as if there was no bottom. Draco grabbed her hands and gently lowered her once she had both feet inside the bag. He heard a distant thump and a soft. "Ow!" before he closed the flap and buckled the bag, casting a feather light charm and setting it beside the desk. He lifted the privacy charm.

"Mr. Malveaux!" an authoritative voice rang out as the banging continued.

"Just a moment!" he snapped, irritably. Draco snatched open the door and glared at the assembled posse. "What is it?" he demanded.

"We are looking for a negress said to belong to you," said the man at the front of the group. "A tall Creole gal with long hair, wearing white dress. Do you own a girl who matches that description?"

"As a matter of fact I do. As you can see, however," he swept his arm to show the empty room. "She seems to have disappeared. I sent that little minx on an errand over two hours ago, and she hasn't returned! Now, who are you and why are _you_ looking for her?"

"Orleans Parish constable. Your negress attacked a fine gentlewoman this evening in what looks like an attempt to run off with one of the lady's slaves. When her house guest attempted to subdue her, she killed him. Are you acquainted with Madame Blanque or Monsieur Marius Delhomme?"

"I am afraid I do not know Madame Blanque, but I have recently been a guest of Monsieur Delhomme's father, Marcel, very recently. We were engaged in a business deal. This is—I am appalled! She is certainly a bit feisty. I admit, I have spoiled her a bit, but she's never run off like this or acted out before. Are you sure it was my girl?" he asked, his voice full of astonishment.

"Madame Blanque reported that Mr. Delhomme said the girl belonged to you."

"My _God!_ That wily little slag!" He sighed heavily. "You know, there was a rather astonishing escape of about ten negroes from the Delhomme farm just the other day. You don't think they inspired her to run off, do you?"

"You never can tell what goes through the minds of these gals. Could be she wanted to go with 'em. Could be she got here to the city and saw all the placées—thought she could be one too."

"Well, she's worth a pretty shilling, and I'll not have my name dishonored by a murdering runaway!" He grabbed his rucksack. "Let's go, gentlemen!"

* * *

Épiphanie lit her wand and settled herself among the myriad items inside the bag. It reminded her of a dark and very messy tent. She had fallen quite far down, landing on top of their miniaturized car. Her hip still smarted and she rubbed it as she attempted to hear the conversation going on above her.

Suddenly, the bag shifted and a pile of clothes fell on top of her. She assumed that the bag had been lifted and sincerely hoped that Draco was the one who had picked it up.

 _Ma bien-aimee?_

 _We're getting out of here. Just be patient, beloved._

She could just make out the sounds of several men's voices and fished out her rosary, fingering the beads as she prayed for protection. Épiphanie closed her eyes and concentrated on Draco until his world came into her focus.

Draco staggered a bit as he entered the livery with the other men. He shook his head to recover from the sudden swimming he had as she entered his consciousness.

"Are you alright, man?" asked the constable. He was sticking quite close to Draco, such that the wizard wondered if the man suspected him of conspiring with Épiphanie.

"I don't believe it!" Draco exclaimed. "That little bitch _stole_ my carriage!" he lied. They'd transformed the car back into itself and shrunk it at their first opportunity. He knew it was within the depths of the bag with his wife.

Épiphanie smiled to herself.

"That means she's taking one of the main roads, not the boat," said the other man. "With a carriage, she can't have gotten too far too fast. We ought to be able to catch her before she gets out of Orleans Parish."

Draco swung himself onto the horse that they had provided him, and the group set off in pairs, each taking one of the main roads out of town.

"What's with the bag, Malveaux?" the constable asked.

Draco lifted the flap and reached a hand inside, conjuring a pistol similar to the one that Épiphanie had drawn on Marius when they departed the plantation.

"I never travel without provisions and protection. There are still highwaymen throughout the English countryside."

"Oh, good! You do have a side arm. Do you think it will be necessary?"

"Unless she stole a weapon, she isn't armed. However, I taught her personally, to duel," Draco replied. "The girl is very smart. She isn't merely a concubine. The woman is a trained bodyguard and as we have clearly learned, a lethal assassin!"

Now Épiphanie was covering her mouth as tears of laughter streamed down her face. She cast a Muffliato, in case she could be heard inside the enchanted satchel. The tale her husband was spinning was amazing.

 _Prepare yourself beloved._

 _For what?_

 _You are about to be captured_

 _What?!_

 _Just trust me. Take a look at the surroundings._ Draco peered down the road. Épiphanie saw pine trees as far as the dirt road stretched ahead of them. There was nothing remarkable about it. She thought to herself that it was about as unchanged as the highway that she knew of her future world. _Apparate out about a half mile and wait for us. I have a plan. All you have to do is follow along._

 _Alright. I trust you, love._

Épiphanie found a space of decent footing inside the bag and turned. She landed clumsily in the trees a little ways down the road and waited, listening for their approach. After about five minutes, she heard them fast approaching and stepped out into the road.

"There she is! Épiphanie!" he bellowed. They urged the horses forward at a gallop.

Épiphanie spun around and pasted a look of surprise and fear on her face. She looked back over her shoulder as if she was contemplating fleeing.

"Don't you _dare!_ " Draco snarled, dismounting his horse and leveling the pistol at her. Épiphanie dropped to her knees and held her hands in the air.

"Please, monsieur! Pardonne-moi, ma bien-aimee! I didn't—" she begged. He slapped her hard across the face. "Ow! Damn, baby!" she muttered.

"Shut your lying mouth! How _dare_ you betray and dishonor me! _Murder!_ Did you _really_ think you could get away?" He grabbed her hair and shoved her forward.

 _If you can distract him, I can apparate us away._

Épiphanie flung herself to the ground again and began to grovel.

"Please, monsieur! He _stole_ me! Please! You _have_ to believe me!" She clutched at his legs. Draco shook her off, slapping her again. He raised his hand to strike her again. She screamed. "Please, no! No!"

Suddenly the sky split with a blinding bolt of lightning. The horses startled and reared up. Draco's mount fled in the opposite direction. The constable struggled to control his horse as it whinnied in fright, nearly throwing him as it reared up.

" _Fulmen Factus!_ " Several bolts of lightning ripped through the night, one striking a massive tree at the edge of the road, which fell between the wizards and the constable with a thundering crash. Draco grabbed her hand and spun. Épiphanie squeezed Draco's hand as she felt the recognizable pressing in on all sides.

* * *

The clearing where they landed looked familiar to Épiphanie. She heard water lapping at the shore very nearby. Draco immediately began walking in a large circle and casting protective enchantments while she dug into the rucksack for clean clothes. Épiphanie cast aside the filthy dress and pulled on a large, comfortable sweatshirt and jeans. Draco summoned a small pile of wood and surrounded it with stones before pointing his wand to set the kindling ablaze.

"You know, you didn't have to hit me so hard, boo." She sat down close to the fire and pulled on her tennis shoes.

"I'm so sorry, my love. _Episkey!_ " You know I meant none of those things that I said." He apologized profusely and examined her face, applying dittany to her split lip. "I hated to even hear such things upon my lips."

"I know, hon. You oughta seriously consider a career in acting. I swear your performance was Oscar-worthy! Sss!" She winced as the wound on her face healed itself.

"Who's Oscar?" Draco cast a cleaning spell to remove the blood that was still on her hands and in her hair.

"Never mind. Hey!" she said, looking around. "This is where we met the Krewe of Hallows!"

"Correct. I couldn't think of any place else we might escape to. I didn't want to chance arriving at La Maison Blanche if Madame Laveau was entertaining patrons. Isaiah's residence would be even more risky, and we've already obliviated him twice."

"That's true. We've altered his life path enough. And Ma Mère happens to be entertaining Gerbold Ollivander this evening."

"Really?" Draco gave her a look of surprise. She nodded with a similar expression before turning to look into the flames. "About Marius—"

"No, my beloved, don't speak of it. We both already knew that Delhomme would die during this year."

"But I—" Draco stopped her again, placing the copied news article into her hand.

"I assume that you never had the opportunity to read this one. It's all here."

Épiphanie frowned deeper and deeper as she read.

"Draco, they think you were in on it. There's a bounty on our heads—or there will be by tomorrow! That's not enough time to figure out the time-turner!" she exclaimed.

"Calm down, my dearest. I was studying the time-turner while you were away. I discovered something I hadn't noticed before." Épiphanie moved closer as Draco held up both time-turners in the firelight. "You see here, on my time turner," he pointed to the additional golden hoop. "When it spins, the stars on the disc change positions."

"Like star transits!"

"Exactly. Look." He held his wand flat on his palm. "Point me." The wand shuddered and turned to point north. They turned in that direction and he held up the time turner. The star-shaped perforations aligned perfectly with the stars in the sky.

"Whoa! So you think we have to get the star positions for home, then?" she asked.

"I suppose so. I've been wracking my brain to recall the correct positions for home this time of year." He squinted up at the sky, then summoned parchment and a pen from the bag. Épiphanie quietly watched as he began to draw a number of star charts. "This would be so much easier with a telescope," he mumbled.

"I never would have been able to draw a chart that good, even _with_ a telescope," she said. "You're like a computer."

"Well, the Blacks have always been rather obsessed with the night sky. Just think of our names—Orion, Cygnus, Andromeda, Bellatrix, Regulus, Sirius, Draco…" He waved dismissively and continued to draw, glancing up at the sky occasionally.

"Makes sense." Épiphanie rolled up the discarded dress and transfigured it into a pillow, stretching out beside her husband, while keeping a keen ear for the sound of danger.

"I think I've got it!" Draco exclaimed after several minutes. They leapt to their feet, gathering up their belongings, and banked the fire. Draco draped the long golden chain around their necks and lined up the stars. The world spun around them like a video on fast-forward.


	9. Faculty Meeting

"What? Are we—wait, this is Hogsmeade Station!" Épiphanie exclaimed. The scarlet engine of the Hogwarts Express belched steam as numerous students milled around the platform, heading for carriages and lining up for the boats.

"We weren't gone _that_ long! Surely it can't be September first already?" Draco knitted his brow as he tucked the time-turner into his shirt. Suddenly, Épiphanie grabbed him and shoved him into an alcove just beyond the entrance to the station. "What? What's the matter?" he asked.

"Look!" she pointed. "We're not back in 2003!"

Draco turned his gaze in the direction of her gesture, and his heart leapt into his throat. There was no mistaking the mane of platinum hair on the boy he saw standing near the train wearing a prefect's badge.

"Bloody fucking _hell!"_ Draco gasped. "We have to get out of here!" He grabbed her hand and began to pull her towards the high street.

"Wait! You need a disguise! People will freak out if they see you—especially Lucius!" She cast a glamour on him, transforming his pale hair to a deep copper color, and giving him a goatee.

"Red hair!" he complained.

"Oh, shut up! The Weasleys are probably related to you anyway—everyone _else_ is!" she declared and started off.

"What about you?" He grabbed her sleeve.

"What about me? No one knows who I am." She turned to go once more, but he tugged her sleeve again, pointing out her muggle clothing.

"They don't know you now, but they'll know you in the future," he pointed out.

Épiphanie groaned and retrieved a dress and cloak from the bag, hastily pulling them on. She lightened her hair and changed the shape of her eyes for good measure. "Happy? Can we go now?"

"Fine." They began walking up the street. "I'm thinking that we get a room at the Three Broomsticks until we can figure out—"

"Ah! Miss Legendre! Mr. Prewett! I am quite pleased that you were able to make it!"

Épiphanie and Draco looked at one another and turned shocked expressions to the white-haired man striding up the street towards them.

"Um—is that—?" Épiphanie began.

"Dumbledore?" Draco said with astonishment. They looked over their shoulders, but saw no one else to whom he could be speaking.

"You needn't have walked, my friends. There's always a carriage available for new staff arriving at Hogwarts." The headmaster shook both of their hands, warmly. "Well, no matter. Let us make haste. The sorting shall commence quite soon. If you will take my arm?" The couple were still quite bemused, but the older man raised a knowing brow. Épiphanie took his arm and Draco took her hand just as the professor turned, apparating them to the castle.

They landed in a room just off the Great Hall.

"I was unaware that one could apparate into the school grounds," said Draco.

"Well, there are certain advantages to being headmaster, Mr. Prewett. Do let us take our seats!" Dumbledore moved quickly through the portal into the Great Hall before they could respond.

"What should we do?" Épiphanie asked. Draco shook his head. What he knew of his late headmaster informed him deep down that he should trust the eccentric old wizard who always seemed to know much more than he let on.

"I say we play along. Dumbledore was always extremely clever. It may be the safest thing until we can come up with a plan." They nervously stepped into the Hall where the first year students were just entering.

* * *

Draco and Épiphanie sat quietly observing the proceedings from the staff table as the first year students were sorted. Draco studiously avoided turning his gaze upon the Slytherin table where he knew that both of his parents would be seated, Narcissa being a sixth year, and Lucius a seventh. However, when Professor McGonagall called the name of Sirius Black, he couldn't help but look over and note the shocked expression on his mother's young face when Sirius was sorted into Gryffindor.

"Our entire family has been in Slytherin for centuries. Sirius was the only one who wasn't," he whispered to Épiphanie.

"Lily Evans!" Professor McGonagall called out a few minutes later. Draco nudged his wife.

"I think that's Harry's mother!" he whispered as they watched the pretty redhead take her seat to be sorted.

"Gryffindor!" the sorting hat called out. She moved happily to her house table. Épiphanie noticed a small boy with long dark hair, watching her with a sad expression.

"That boy over there looks so sad!" she pointed at him.

"Holy hell! That's Severus!"

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"Positive. I'd know that face anywhere, even as young as this. Also, Potter told me that Snape had been deeply in love with his mother ever since they were children. See the way he looks at her?"

"Wow! So that means Harry's father is here too then?"

Draco scanned the thinning crowd of eleven-year-olds and pointed. Épiphanie's eyes grew wide with astonishment.

"Damn! Harry looks just like him—except for—"

"His eyes. Yeah."

Épiphanie also felt a pang of sadness when she laid eyes on Remus Lupin, with his pale and scarred face, as he was sorted. As the remaining students were sorted—Potter, Lupin, Black and Evans all sitting together—Épiphanie gazed around the Great Hall, taking in the faces of so many bright young witches and wizards, some of whom she was sure would sacrifice everything—perhaps even before she would be conceived, when she spied a very familiar-looking face at the Gryffindor table.

"Babe! Look! I think that's my dad!" she murmured. "God, he's so _young!_ "

Draco turned away from his own family to see thirteen-year-old Kingsley Shacklebolt watching the proceedings with interest. The young Gryffindor was largely unremarkable in his school robes, with closely cropped hair—but for a sparkling gold hoop in one ear. The couple's attention was returned to the moment as the headmaster approached the podium and welcomed the students back to school with start-of-term announcements.

"…Please join me in welcoming the newest members to our staff. Lucas Prewett will be apprenticing with Professor Slughorn in our potions laboratory for his mastery, and Mademoiselle Philomène Legendre has traveled all the way from the United States to be our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. She comes _highly_ recommended from Ilvermorny and MACUSA!"

The headmaster and other professors at the staff table applauded politely, as did many of the students. The couple looked up and down the table to see a few professors raising their glasses in salute. The feast began and they did their best not to appear out of sorts.

 _So, I guess we're stuck here for the time being._

 _Looks that way. Who is Philomène Legendre, I wonder?_

 _My great aunt._ Draco gave Épiphanie a look of surprise. _How Dumbledore knew that, I have no idea. She wasn't even a witch! I'm the first descendant to have magical powers. This is crazy! What about this Prewett?_

 _He was a relative. Molly Weasley's maiden name is Prewett._ Draco grimaced. _You were right to go with the red hair._

 _Dumbledore knows something, doesn't he?_

 _It's possible. The doddering old fool always seemed to be one step ahead of everybody else. We'll have to tread extremely carefully. We know things about everyone's future here—especially our parents' and Harry's._

So engrossed was the couple in their silent conversation, they almost didn't notice that the other professors had begun to attempt to engage them in conversation.

"Prewett? Are you any relation to Molly and the twins, Fabian and Gideon?" asked Minerva.

"They are cousins, yes," Draco lied easily.

"Yet, I don't recall you as a student. Did you not attend Hogwarts?"

"Unfortunately, no, I did not, Professor. Until recently, my health has been fragile. I attended Beauxbatons Academy. My parents felt the climate of Southern France to be more conducive to my condition. However, I did so wish to study under the esteemed Professor Slughorn. You see, I developed an intense interest in potion making—likely because I had to endure so many in my youth—that is why I applied for an apprenticeship. I should very much like to open an apothecary someday."

"Well, I must say, young man, that your treatise on the varied effects of Draught of Peace, when combined with various mind-altering plants was quite a read!" exclaimed Professor Slughorn. "I am most saddened that I did not have the opportunity to work with you in your formative years! It is why I absolutely _jumped_ at the chance to be your mentor!"

"Thank you, sir. I hope to make you proud." Draco wondered whether Lucas Prewett had actually been an apprentice to Slughorn, and where was he now?

"And you, young lady, allow me to be the first to welcome you," Professor Slughorn raised his glass. "You must be _quite_ a witch for the headmaster to invite you all the way from America! I believe you may well be the first foreign teacher here at Hogwarts."

"Very true! I don't recall the headmaster having mentioned that he was considering any instructors from abroad," said Minerva.

"Well, it was a surprise to receive the appointment," said Épiphanie. "I was all set to accept a position as an Auror with MACUSA. They are still realigning many of the DMLE offices since the recent repeal of Rappaport's Law. New Orleans—my home—has been the source of quite a bit of difficulty for the department, owing to the number of witches and wizards who practice magic among no-majs under the guise of the voodoo rituals."

"Really?" Draco gave her an inquisitive look. "No-majs?"

"Non-magical people," replied Épiphanie.

"Ah yes. Here in England, we call them muggles." He gave her a smile.

"I see. Thank you, Mr. Prewett."

The feast came to an end, and the couple was shown to their quarters. Épiphanie was to take up residence in an apartment behind the Defense Instructor's office on the second floor, above the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Draco was disheartened to learn that he would reside in a private room connected to the Slytherin dungeons, putting him in very close proximity to his parents.

"Mr. Prewett, it was a pleasure to have met you, sir. I hope that we might have the opportunity to speak again soon." Épiphanie shook Draco's hand as they exited the Great Hall, giving it a gentle squeeze. _Meet me at the Room of Requirement as soon as you can._

"The pleasure was all mine, Mademoiselle Legendre. I should certainly look forward to learning more about wizarding life in The United States. Perhaps we might have tea and you can tell me all about this Rappaport's Law." _I'll be there as quickly as possible._

* * *

The two parted ways and made quick work of arranging their quarters. Épiphanie set off immediately for the Room of Requirement. After what seemed an eternity, Draco was able to shake off Professor Slughorn, and made his way down the corridor past the Slytherin Boys' dormitories to the common room. He had nearly reached the entrance when he heard a familiar voice calling out.

"Cousin Lucas!" Draco took a deep breath and turned to face a sixteen-year-old Narcissa Black.

"Narcissa?" he remembered to put a bit of question into his tone.

"Yes! Yes, you _do_ know who I am? I wasn't sure. Mother and Father haven't spoken much of you. I suppose that was given the extent of your frailty. I must say, you _do_ look quite the picture of health now. I know the family has distanced itself a bit lately, given the embarrassment of Molly marrying Cedrella's son." Narcissa rolled her eyes. "And I simply can't imagine what Orion and Walburga will say once they learn that Sirius has been sorted into _Gryffindor!_ " She dropped her voice to a whisper when she said the house name, as if uttering a profanity.

"I too was shocked to learn of such an astounding break with tradition. However, I hear that Sirius has always been a bit of a handful. Obsessed with muggles and the like."

"Oh, it really is quite disconcerting, the way he behaves! Mother and Father had hoped that I might be able to set some example for him once he arrived here at school, but I'm certain I have no idea how I might accomplish that now. I'm certainly unsure that I should even like to try."

Draco bit the inside of his cheek. He wasn't surprised to hear his mother speak of their cousin in such a way. As a child, he'd heard his parents openly deriding Sirius as a blood traitor, and remembered the vicious enthusiasm Bellatrix expressed after she'd murdered him in the Department of Mysteries. He nodded in what he'd hoped was a sympathetic manner.

"Narcissa!" Seventeen-year-old Lucius Malfoy approached. "I trust you had a lovely holiday?"

Draco now tasted blood in his mouth as he watched his young father kiss his mother's hand.

"It was lovely, Lucius. Thank you for asking. May I introduce Mr. Prewett? You know that the family is relatives of the House of Black."

"Of course," said Lucius, extending his hand. "Lucius Malfoy. I am honored, sir."

Draco assumed his well-practiced cool demeanor in the face of his father's calculating smile. He knew the boy was no doubt working out what would be the best approach to ingratiate himself to his intended's family member, who would most surely also be able to gain him even more favor with his head of house.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Malfoy. I understand you are quite the scholar. It appears you are most worthy of the prefect's badge that you wear." Draco stroked his young father's ego. "My apologies for being so abrupt, however, I was hoping to have a word with the headmaster before the hour becomes too late. I do look forward to chatting with you both soon."

* * *

It took all of his restraint not to run to the seventh floor corridor where Épiphanie lifted her disillusionment charm when he approached the tapestry of the dancing trolls.

"It took you long enough! Slughorn wouldn't stop talking, huh?"

"Worse! I ran into my parents!" he moaned. Épiphanie paced back and forth in front of the wall, until a door appeared. They entered a room that was practically identical to the drawing room at Antares Hall. Draco gave her a pointed look and she shrugged.

"What happened?"

"Well, apparently Narcissa believes that she knows Lucas, I guess there is enough resemblance with the red hair. She was going on and on about Molly marrying Arthur Weasley and embarrassing the family, and how horrible it was that Sirius was sorted into Gryffindor. Then, before I could get away, along comes Lucius." Draco rolled his eyes. "I can tell he's already looking for a way to curry favor—whether to get closer to Slughorn or to get in with Narcissa, I'm not sure. Either way, I fear that he's going to be on me at every turn."

"I still don't know how Dumbledore managed all this! He _has_ to know who we really are, but how?" Épiphanie worried her lip and sat down on the sofa.

"Dumbledore always seemed to know things that no one else did." Draco began to pace. "I was so sure that I had figured out the time-turner! Dammit!"

"Well, at least you've got us back to the UK." Épiphanie walked up to him, wrapping her arms around him. She stroked his back and he felt some of his tension subside. "You must have done something right. Do you think we should say anything to Dumbledore?" she asked.

"I don't know. He was always so cryptic when he was alive. Even if he is aware of our true identities, I'm not sure that he would be of any help."

"Well, I guess we'll just have to do what we did in the last century—play it out until we can figure a course of escape. I can't believe I will be teaching Defense! I only took the class for one year, and I have Seventh Years, first thing in the morning! This ought to be interesting. In the meantime, maybe you can make use of the Astronomy Tower to work out the correct setting."

"I was thinking the same thing. Clearly I made some mistake with my charts. But Épiphanie, it is _extremely_ important to be careful what you say and do here, beloved. The Dark Lord has already begun set his plans in motion. You are in a particularly precarious situation. Rumour has it that the reason that Defense Against the Dark Arts has had so many instructors is that he cursed the position when Dumbledore denied him a job teaching the subject. No instructor has ever held the position for more than a year until he was defeated."

"Well, _I_ don't intend to hold the position for even a _month!_ " his wife sniffed.

"It is _imperative,_ Épiphanie, my love, People will already be somewhat distrustful of you, because you are a foreigner. These are already very dangerous times—"

"I understand darling, I will be careful. I promise—I will do my best to keep my temper in check and reign in my magic."

"Maybe I can help you with that," Draco gave her a wicked grin and leaned in for a kiss. She leaned away from him.

"I'm sorry, boo. You're going to have to lose that glamour first. I feel like I'm about to kiss Ron, and that just ain't gon' work!"

"Oh, dear _Merlin!_ " Draco stepped back and waved his wand, his features returning to normal within seconds. "I'd never get that thought out of my mind! Now, where were we?" Draco pressed his lips to hers, and Épiphanie responded eagerly. She could feel her husband's heart pounding desperately as he held her close, his hands moving hungrily over her body. They made haste of removing their clothing and merged themselves into one. Their lovemaking was furious and unrestrained. He fisted her hair, pulling her head back and licking her throat as she clawed his back, her nails piercing the skin. Épiphanie gave herself fully to Draco, crying out into the hidden chamber.

"Please be careful, my alpha!" Draco whispered urgently as they lay sated afterwards. He kissed the top of her head.

"I will, my omega." She curled into his embrace and they lay together until weariness and prudence forced them to part and they made plans to meet the next evening after dinner.


	10. The Art of War

Épiphanie paced behind the door that joined the instructor's office to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. She could hear the murmur of voices as the seventh year students filled the room below. This class would set the tone for the rest of their time in this era. If she was unsuccessful, there was no possibility of gaining anyone's trust and their safety would be utterly compromised. Épiphanie wished she had as much knowledge of the students' history as did Draco.

"Get it together, girl!" she admonished herself. "You are Madame Laveau's descendant! You are a Slytherin—wise, eloquent, cunning, moving easily between our worlds—muggle and magical—and a trickster to your own benefit. You got this!" She squared her shoulders and pulled open the door, stepping into the classroom.

"The old coot has definitely gone 'round the bend this time," declared Lucius Malfoy, sprawling in his chair and rolling his eyes. "An _American!_ He may as well have hired a muggleborn! My gods, she's wearing _trousers!_ "

He gave the professor an appraising look. She was dressed entirely in black, wearing jodhpurs and paddock boots with a frock coat that reached the floor and fastened at the waist with a single silver button, her ruffled blouse giving the slightest glimpse of her ample cleavage.

"At least she's easy on the eye," Silas Parkinson muttered. He rested his chin and raked his eyes over the new professor.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Épiphanie's voice was firm and strong as she swept down the stairs and into the room, flicking her wand at the board. A list of defensive spells appeared there. "By this point in your education, I expect that you are well-versed in defensive magic. You should be able to satisfactorily cast a shield charm, stunner, and disarming spell at the very least. We will begin with revision of wand-to-wand combat and move on to defense against dark creatures."

She began her lecture. Lucius slouched in his chair and assumed a bored expression as she reviewed combat spells that he'd known for years.

 _I'll bet she can't even produce a patronus._ Lucius thought.

" _Expecto Patronum!_ "

The room filled with a bright white light and a shimmering dragon burst from the professor's wand, its massive wings stretching the width of the room. It spat a silver flame down the aisle between the desks, before hovering just below the dragon skeleton that hung from the ceiling and evaporating. The roomful of Slytherins and Ravenclaws stared at the statuesque young woman who stood before them, her face cool and impassive. Lucius was aghast. She couldn't have known what he was thinking—could she?

"Mr. Malfoy, as you appear to be so riveted by my review, perhaps you can enlighten us as to the usefulness of nonverbal spell casting?" she asked.

"Clearly, Professor, nonverbal spell casting gives the wizard or witch the advantage of concealing the type of magic one is about to perform. Therefore, one's opponent has less time to formulate a defense."

"Excellent. Five points to Slytherin." She cleared a space at the front of the room. "On your feet, sir."

Lucius gave a slight start. She raised a brow and he stood.

"Three offensive spells. All nonverbal. You may not use an unforgivable curse. Be prepared to deflect any defensive spell I cast." She moved to a spot some distance away from him and flipped back the skirt of her robe as she bent her legs slightly and raised her wand. "Whenever you are ready."

Lucius cast a smug look at his friends.

 _Flipendo!_

Épiphanie flicked her wand, shielding herself from the jinx. "How about something more advanced than first year, sir? I was told that you were an above-average student. Lucius' jaw was tight as he squared his shoulders and pointed his wand.

 _Rictusempra!_

 _Protego! Titillando!_

Lucius squirmed and pursed his lips to prevent himself laughing.

" _Finite_." She waited while he composed himself. A few students snickered. "That was better. One more try?" Lucius glared at the woman, his face red. He tossed his hair and waved his wand with a malicious slash. A jet of bright pink burst forth.

 _Diffindo!_

Épiphanie leapt to the side and the severing charm cleanly sliced the head from a bust that was perched on a pedestal near the wall. Several students gasped.

 _Expelliarmus!_ Lucius' wand sailed through the air and into her hand.

"Very good, Mr. Malfoy. Twenty points to Slytherin." She gave him back his wand. "Next time, shall we concentrate on less lethal spells in the classroom, mm-kay?"

"You only specified no unforgivable curses, Professor," he replied coolly.

"Touché," she conceded. "Now then, how about we get down for real? I propose a duel. First to disarm, stun or force the other into submission at least twice is the winner. I'll even sweeten the pot—if you manage to defeat me, the entire class will be exempt from homework for the rest of the week." There was a murmur of excitement from the class. " _However,_ if you lose, the class will have a two-and-a-half foot essay on undifferentiated counter-spells—on my desk by next class period. Clear the space, please."

The desks were stacked against the walls and the class assembled themselves on either side of the room.

"The rules: first— _no_ potentially lethal spells. No unforgivable curses. Are we clear, sir?"

"As elfin crystal, Professor."

She pointed her wand. Lucius pointed his. They eyed one another for several moments.

"Come on, Malfoy! You can do it!" a few students encouraged.

 _Stupefy!_ He waved his wand with a flourish.

 _Protego! Impedimenta!_ Lucius was thrown backwards several feet.

 _Petrificus Totalus!_ His spell flashed against her shield.

 _Aqua Eructo! Glacius!_ She shot a jet of water from her wand and froze it into a wall of ice, firing off a stunner from behind it. He dodged the spell.

 _Bombarda!_ The wall of ice crumbled. _Incarcerous!_

The ropes barely wound themselves about her wrist, before she muttered the counter-spell. The students were loudly cheering and egging on the battle. Épiphanie continued to dodge and counter his spells, the skirt of her frock coat whirling around her as she moved. Lucius, of course, had no idea that she'd honed her dueling skills against the son whom he'd taught personally.

 _Expelliarmus!_ Her wand slipped from her grasp and sailed across the room, landing with a clatter. Before she could summon it back, Lucius went on the offensive once more. _Serpensortia!_

A large snake appeared in the center of the room. Several students gasped. The serpent coiled, ready to strike at her. She eyed it quietly and smiled.

" _Vipera Evanesca!_ " The snake vanished as another round of startled gasps whispered through the room. _Expelliarmus! Carpe Retractum!_ She cast away his wand and reeled him towards her like she was in a game of tug-o-war as she spoke.

"It is important that one doesn't rely solely upon disarming one's opponent. There are not only creatures and beings, such as goblins and elves, which do not rely upon wands to perform magic, but also witches and wizards who are quite capable of performing magic without a wand." She tweaked Lucius' nose and released him. "Your essays are due at the start of the next class period. Dismissed."

* * *

"What did you do to him?" Draco asked at dinner. He noticed that Lucius had barely taken his eyes off Épiphanie throughout the meal, openly glaring at her.

"Payback's a bitch—especially when it comes twenty-eight years in advance."

"Dragonfly! You promised you'd be careful!"

"He still has all his fingers and toes! He's just in a shitty mood because the class is angry with him for not getting them out of their homework." She cut a neat slice of roast beef. "How was your day?"

"Frightfully dull. I spent the better part of the day preparing ingredients for Slughorn's personal projects. I am curious as to why he would need to brew wolfsbane potion. However," he lowered his voice. "I couldn't help but observe that our future Minister of Magic is quite a proficient potion-maker for a third-year!"

"Hm!" Épiphanie looked over at young Kingsley. He chatted amiably with a few other students around him. "Seems to be well-liked. I wondered, honestly. He and Maman don't socialize too much, other than the odd dinner invitation from the Weasleys or a handful of others." Just then, the young future Auror and Minister turned towards them. He gave her a smile. She smiled back and nodded her head. Draco gave him a nod.

"Watch yourself, love. It wouldn't do for the young Gryffindor to develop a crush on his own daughter," Draco warned.

"I don't know. In about a decade, he's going to meet a woman who looks quite a bit like me. Maybe that will be the reason he decides to stop and talk to her." She grinned.

As the meal progressed, they conversed with the other professors seated at the table. Professor Slughorn engaged Draco in a discussion of the feasibility of studying the effectiveness of wolfsbane potion on young lycanthropes. Meanwhile, Professor Flitwick inquired as to the rumours that Épiphanie had cast a corporeal patronus during her first class with the seventh year students.

"…And your patronus is a dragon? How extraordinary!" the tiny professor squeaked.

"Is it?" Épiphanie replied. "Why is that?"

"Well, I am sure you know that simply conjuring a corporeal patronus is a difficult feat for most witches and wizards. However, given that you are an Auror, I would assume that it is a necessary and practiced skill." Épiphanie went along with this without speaking. "That being said, magical creatures are particularly uncommon as patronuses. Some believe that to be the mark of a truly powerful mage."

"I highly doubt that, sir." She shrugged. "I'm inclined to believe it's simply a connection to my occasionally aggressive personality." She laughed.

Any hopes that Draco might have had of finding his way to the astronomy tower that evening, were quickly dashed when Slughorn "invited" him to his quarters for drinks and a continued discussion of the wolfsbane study. As their dinner conversation had progressed, the potions master's idea had developed into talking points for an abstract to be submitted to a number of journals for consideration, and it was clear to Draco, that the professor intended his apprentice to assist him with the project. As they left the Great Hall, he cast Épiphanie a regretful glance. She shrugged back at him with reluctant understanding before she turned towards her own quarters.

* * *

There was an owl pecking the window pane when she entered the room, and she pushed open the casement. The raptor perched on the end of her bed, and she retrieved the message from its beak.

"I'm sorry, I don't have any treats," she apologized. The bird hooted softly before leaping from the window and taking off into the night.

Épiphanie stared nervously at the envelope for several moments. They didn't even exist in this era, so who could possibly be sending her a letter? She was even more suspicious that the item bore the seal of the Ministry of Magic. It had to be a mistake, didn't it? She turned the envelope over and saw that it was addressed to Philomène Legendre.

"How?" she murmured to herself. She felt a chill creep over her skin and she broke the seal, opening the letter. It was brief.

 _Miss Legendre,_

 _On behalf of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Ministry of Magic, Great Britain, I would like to welcome you. Please join me for dinner tomorrow evening at the Three Broomsticks Tavern. I am most interested in learning more about the American DMLE._

 _Bartemius Crouch, Head_

 _Department of Magical Law Enforcement_

"What the hell?" she murmured to herself. "What is this all about?" She wanted to talk to Draco, but she was certain that he would be hostage to Slughorn's research discussion for quite a while, so sending a patronus was out of the question, and she didn't want to draw any suspicion from the professor, by distracting her husband's thoughts.

She stuffed the letter into her pocket and left her quarters, strolling quietly through the halls of the castle until she found herself climbing the stairs to the top of the Astronomy Tower. A comfortable breeze lifted the skirts of her coat as she stood on the parapet and looked out over the Forbidden Forest. In the distance, she noticed a pair of thestrals rising above the trees and swooping around one another. Seeing the haunting creatures reminded her that she had not returned to the tower after the night that Theodore Nott had cast her from the parapet. She leaned against the merlon and drew the slim leather humidor that Draco had given her for Christmas the year they'd left school from her pocket. She removed the single cigar and used her wand to trim and light it.

As she held the smoke in her mouth, savoring the flavor, the images from that fateful night flashed through her mind. This time, however, it wasn't the deception and frightening realization of going over the edge that dominated her thoughts.

Épiphanie recalled the moment that the force of the stunner against her shield propelled her over the side of the battlement. The rush of air in her ears with Draco's lingering scream had brought her into full awareness of the sky becoming more distant. The fall felt like slow motion as she twisted weightlessly and suddenly, she grasped it—the air—and she was no longer hurtling towards certain death, but gliding effortlessly, like dancing. She imagined herself a firebird, front leg pointed down, back arced towards her back leg in attitude and her arms extended back like wings. A howling screech of fear, wonder, and excitement escaped her throat, slicing through the quiet calm of the night. The sound so shrill, and magic so strong, it shattered the windows of the Great Hall. The memory was startlingly clear to her now. When she alighted on the blanket of snow, she had immediately felt the urge to dance across the drifts of ice crystals and leap into the air once again, wondering if she could fly back up to the top of the tower—until she caught sight of the two wizards moving in her direction, and her eyes landed on Draco. The raw magic swirling around her found its target, wiping away everything else. She had suppressed knowledge of her ability to defy gravity unsupported until the night before their wedding when she saw her husband, father and friends battling to save her from the dark wizards who had initiated that first fateful flight.

Épiphanie exhaled a long stream of smoke as she watched the thestrals. There were more of them now, quietly gliding and diving around one another.

"They are hauntingly beautiful, aren't they?" Dumbledore stepped up beside her. "Surely you aren't thinking of joining them."

Épiphanie looked at him curiously. He glanced down, and she was surprised to see that she had one foot poised to step up on the crenel. She lowered it and took another pull on her cigar. She exhaled abruptly and held it up.

"I hope this is alright, sir."

"There are no restrictions on smoking, so long as one does not engage while in the company of students."

"I understand." They stood quietly for a moment. "Headmaster, what makes you think that I can see them?"

"Other than the fact that your question has confirmed it, you _were_ watching them quite intently." He stroked his long beard.

"Oh, well, yeah. I see."

"Given the reputation of your family for attending the end of life for so many, it is hardly surprising."

 _He's a legilimens!_ She blinked, and focused her thoughts entirely upon the flying creatures in the distance.

"Do you know anything about this?" she asked, reaching into her pocket and passing the letter to him.

"Ah! I had a feeling that Barty might be contacting you. The DMLE is under pressure to try and stop Lord Voldemort before he can build up his following of Death Eaters."

"Death Eaters?" she asked in feigned ignorance. "Who _is_ this man?"

"A very talented wizard—a very disturbed and dark mind. The Death Eaters believe in his ideal of blood supremacy. They employ the dark arts to terrorize and even murder muggles and muggleborns."

"My God! Sounds like the Klan!" She pulled a face, thinking about the fact that Nathan Bedford Forrest had been called the _Grand Wizard_ and the highest ranking leader of the terrorist group is known as the _Imperial Wizard._

"I do believe that may be why Crouch wishes to speak to you. He is hoping that as an American and an Auror, you might have some insight as to how to approach this threat."

Épiphanie scoffed. "I'm not sure what I can tell him. The Klan is still alive and well in America." She remembered that it was 1971 and not 2003, and amended what she was about to say. "Most no-maj schools in the south are still segregated, in spite of federal laws against it. Just the other day, ten school buses in Michigan were bombed in response to a court-ordered plan to bus children across town in an effort to achieve racial integration."

"You appear to be well-versed in America's muggle history," he said.

"I know it's only been six years since Rappaport's Law was repealed. Wizards and Witches in America hardly interact with no-majs, but New Orleans is about the only place where it was ever tolerated. Many of the wizards and witches living in the southern states are afraid to leave their magical communities, despite the change in the law, because they don't know how to protect themselves from such a threat as white supremacy, while still keeping the Statute of Secrecy." She shuddered with the realization that her lie might actually hold some truth. She gently stubbed out her cigar and returned it to the humidor. "Do you really think I could help?"

"It is not often that Mr. Crouch is open to new viewpoints." Dumbledore turned to her, his eyes bearing that characteristic twinkle that she recalled even appearing in his portrait. "Your ideas may change the course of things for the future." He held her gaze for a moment before turning away and looking over the edge of the tower. The thestrals were gone now. "Standing up here, it is easy to see the thrill…and the terror of going over the edge. Falling—like flying. Good night, Professor."

"Ahem," she cleared her throat, which was suddenly quite dry. "Good night, sir."


	11. Exhor Tenebris--Consorting With Darkness

Severus Snape took a seat at the first table in the Potions classroom. He carefully organized his supplies in front of him before looking back towards the door. She had smiled at him that morning across the Great Hall as they ate and he desperately hoped that she might agree to be his partner in class. His eyes lit up as Lily entered the classroom and their eyes met. He gave her a shy wave and she smiled, her green eyes twinkling. She moved towards him.

"Hi, Sev. Anybody sitting here?" she asked.

"N-no. Please," he gestured to the empty seat beside him, heart hammering in his chest. Severus gazed dreamily at her as she sat down and began to arrange her belongings, until he was distracted by the loud thump of a satchel being slammed down on the table behind them.

"Feel like home, Snape?" Sirius Black and James Potter sprawled behind them, grinning wickedly. "I mean, your family _does_ live in a cave, right?"

James laughed. "Are you _sure_ , Sirius? A cave might be too luxurious. I'm thinking under a bridge, maybe? Honestly, Evans. How can you _stand_ to be so near him? His robes look as if he slept in the greenhouses!"

The door closed with a resounding snap, and the students turned their attention to the Potions Apprentice. "That is quite enough, Mr. Potter!"

Draco glared at the group before making his way to the front of the room. During their visit the previous night, Slughorn had informed him that he would be responsible for certain classes, including teaching the first-year Slytherins and Gryffindors. He was also dismayed to learn that he would be supervising the N.E.W.T. level Slytherins during their brewing labs, thus ensuring that he would not avoid encounters with his parents, or Harry's. Already, he realized he was party to the enmity that would help to encourage the hostility he'd known with Harry during their own childhood. He was also aware that there was nothing he could do to change that, and hoped that he could quickly find a solution to his own predicament that would prevent him from being accomplice to his late mentor's victimization.

"As you well know, I am Mr. Prewett, Professor Slughorn's Potions Apprentice. I will be responsible for a portion of your instruction, and you are expected to conduct yourselves as you would were the Potions Master at the front of this classroom." As he spoke, Draco had a sudden stroke of inspiration as he recalled his very first potions class. He caught the gaze of the young Slytherin sitting at the first table as he addressed the class. "Potion-making is a scientific art which is the most subtle manifestation of magic. Its results can bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses."

Severus was gazing up at him, eyes keenly locked on his, drinking in the very same words that he would use two decades later while standing in the very same space. Draco felt the tug of his characteristic smirk curling at the side of his lips as he continued. "I can teach you to bottle fame, brew glory, even put a stopper in death…"

* * *

Épiphanie pasted on a smile as she entered The Three Broomsticks and was greeted by Bartemius Crouch. She returned his perfunctory handshake and sat down across from him at the small table tucked into a corner of the pub.

As they chatted over a lunch of lentil stew, she took in his appearance. He was remarkably neat, right down to an obsessively straight part in his hair and a narrow toothbrush moustache. His perfect appearance reminded her a bit of Adolf Hitler.

"I'll be blunt, Miss Legendre. These are dark days. There is a terrible force among us that threatens our very societal balance—perhaps even our existence." His voice was low and ominous as he spoke. "My department is charged with bringing an end to the terrorism that is He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and prevent him from amassing more followers."

"The Death Eaters?"

A look of astonishment flickered across his face as she spoke. It was quickly replaced with a glare and finally he schooled his features.

"The sentiment towards pureblood supremacy is growing!"

"I understand, and to that end, you must be prepared for war," she replied. Épiphanie worried what to say, not wishing to alter the course of history.

"War?" Crouch scoffed. "Surely you can't be serious! I am certain that if the Americans were able to capture Grindelwald—"

"Grindelwald's capture in the United States was a fluke, Mr. Crouch. If you recall, he subsequently escaped the MACUSA before he could be brought to justice. I would hardly call that a success. His deep infiltration of our government only bolstered support for Rappaport's Law, which we've only just recently repealed. While he argued that we ought not have to fear the outside world, as many—particularly purebloods—do, his actions served to feed that very fear and mistrust."

A hooded wizard passed their table, and a chill colder than ice jolted through Épiphanie, causing her to shudder and lose her train of thought. She glanced over her shoulder at the retreating figure, but the door of the pub was swinging shut and he was nowhere in sight.

"I—um. Mr. Crouch, I don't think it's pureblood supremacy which is problematic for you, as your own family proudly counts itself among the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Your problem is the dark magic that is being used to promote those ideals. I don't know that I have insight as to the solution or end-game to this situation. You _do_ have a fight on your hands, and there will be no rules of engagement. I can only say that your department and your Ministry must make it priority, or it and wizard-kind will suffer greatly."

It took a few minutes for Crouch to fumble for the right words as he tossed back a shot of firewhiskey. "Then we will fight fire with fire!" he declared.

"Well, I—"

"We must stamp out this menace by any means possible!"

"Mr. Crouch. I urge you to proceed with caution. You don't want an Inquisition on your hands either," she said.

"These are perilous times, young lady. Swift response and decisive action are always best. I thank you for your time. Good luck, Mademoiselle." He stood, extending his hand.

"Same to you, sir," she replied, and then muttered under her breath as she turned to go. "You're going to need it more than me."

* * *

The moment she stepped out of the pub, Épiphanie knew that she was about to make a monumental mistake. Despite this, she pushed down her misgivings, focusing on only her target as she set off. She slipped her wand into a pocket inside her robes and turned into the shadowed alley that led to the entrance of the Hog's Head Pub. The barman looked up briefly, raising a brow. She certainly stood out in comparison to the other patrons, who all wore dark, well-worn robes, while her heavily-embellished and obviously expensive copper-colored attire was anything but understated. She noticed a familiar sparkle to his eye and felt obliged to order a drink.

He poured firewhiskey into a greasy looking shot glass. Épiphanie took it and turned to the stairs. A cursory glance upon entering had told her that none of the figures huddled over drinks in this room were her quarry. As she mounted the dark stair, she vanished the filthy glass and wiped her hands on her coat.

A door opened a few feet ahead the moment her foot hit the landing. He said nothing when she entered, but sat facing the fire, lightly stroking the hair of a young woman who was seated at his feet, her head resting against his thigh as she gazed reverently up at him. The sight reminded Épiphanie of another time and place. She quickly pushed that image from her mind.

"Leave us," he said. The young woman looked at him with an imploring gaze. He waved her off and she stood, pulling her shoulders back and tossing her dark curls as she gave Épiphanie a haughty and malevolent glare, deliberately brushing against her shoulder as she passed, and swept from the room. Something very familiar in her features caught Épiphanie by surprise, but she wasn't able to place it at the moment.

Finally, the wizard turned around. He wasn't quite what she'd expected. There was a hint of handsomeness in his face, but it was distorted. His skin had a waxy unnatural pallor, and his eyes were ridiculously bloodshot.

"Mademoiselle Legendre," he smiled. She noted his calculating gaze.

"Monsieur Riddle," she replied coolly. His smile faltered.

"Monsieur Riddle is _dead_ ," he snapped.

"Of course," Épiphanie smiled. "Lord Voldemort."

"An American! The headmaster certainly has gone to some lengths to have procured a Dark Arts professor from abroad. Yours must be quite a reputation."

" _Defense Against_ the Dark Arts, sir. I suppose that Professor Dumbledore must have recognized _something_ to have offered me the post. I, however, do not consider myself to be particularly remarkable."

"Self-deprecating and yet, the lady is taking luncheon with the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and discussing Gellert Grindelwald."

"Where I come from, sir, eavesdropping, is considered to be in _quite_ poor taste. You might also do well to express this sentiment to your companion." She waved her hand and the door swung open. The young woman shrank back upon being discovered.

"Bella." He arched a brow. "I am disappointed. We shall address your behavior…later." She gave a startled gasp before letting out an excited sigh. Voldemort flicked his wand and the door slammed shut. "Now then,"

"What is it that you want from me, sir?" she asked, scrutinizing him. He stared back at her without speaking.

Épiphanie felt her back tingle and for a fleeting moment, her head swam. She cleared her mind until there was nothing but clouds, and narrowed her eyes as she gazed back at him. Suddenly, she saw him in another time and place. He was much younger, and certainly more handsome. This younger version of the wizard wore school robes, a prefect's badge upon his chest. He was speaking to Professor Slughorn, and the older man wore a discomfited expression.

The dark wizard took a step back and shook himself before she could make out the conversation. He glared at Épiphanie, and she knew she'd unearthed a secret that he had not intended to share. She schooled her features and continued to gaze at him, unblinking. After a moment, Voldemort gave her the same calculating smile he'd worn when he'd first greeted her.

"I must say, Mademoiselle, when I first saw you, I was taken by your singular beauty. Such a visage as this is hardly to be found upon these shores, or indeed on the continent."

"You are too kind," she replied. He took her hand, and she made an effort not to recoil from his cool touch.

"I do believe that it would be advantageous for us to get to know one another better. A witch of your exceptional talent surely couldn't be satisfied for very long with just… _teaching_." He brushed his lips over her fingers and she suppressed a shudder, her back aflame. He smiled.

Épiphanie withdrew her hand from his grasp and immediately felt relief, the fabric of her blouse cooling the skin at her back.

"And what, pray tell, do you surmise would bring me greater satisfaction than revealing the great mysteries of magic to eager young minds?"

Voldemort stepped forward, taking both of her hands in his and pulling her close, giving her a smoldering look. She felt her head swim once more and blinked, focusing more intently upon the void as she pushed back. This time she saw him standing in the second floor girl's lavatory, staring at a particular sink tap.

 _"_ _Open!_ " she heard his younger self hiss in parseltongue. The image faded as she felt his grip on her hands tighten. Again the glare flashed across his face, followed for just a fleeting second by fear, before the hot, lascivious gaze settled in his eyes once more.

"Clearly, I have underestimated you, my lady. Such a failure rarely happens to me." He closed the space between them. Their bodies were practically pressed together, yet she felt almost no body heat radiating from him. "However, my hypothesis has been confirmed. You are, by _far,_ too gifted to languish in a dusty classroom. With me at your side, you could unlock the wonders of _true power_ and greatness that magic has bestowed upon us!" he crooned in a sibilant whisper. "You said yourself that Grindelwald was right—we've lived in the shadows for too long! Think of all that I could accomplish with a witch, such as yourself, at my side!"

He met her eyes, bloodshot orbs glistening with desire, and inclined his head towards hers. Épiphanie turned her head.

"You are a most intriguing wizard, sir, to be sure. I have no doubt that yours is a name which will go down in history. However, I really should go. I have enjoyed this little tête-à-tête." She stepped out of his embrace and gave him a polite curtsy. "Besides, I have little desire to arrogate the position that your…companion so clearly covets."

Épiphanie took a step towards the door.

" _Foolish girl! Do you really think it so easy to refuse me?_ " he hissed. The moment she faltered, she knew it was a mistake.

"On the contrary, _sir._ I am well aware that you have hardly conceded this discussion." She waved her hand, and the door swung open. She returned his shocked stare with a serene gaze as she moved to the door.

Épiphanie turned the moment she stepped onto the landing, and apparated as close to the castle gates as possible, launching herself through them at a sprint.

* * *

Draco whistled softly to himself as he strolled through the castle after his final class of the day, and made his way to the second floor where he rapped on "Professor Legendre's" door. He thought he heard something akin to a whimper and knit his brows. Draco looked over his shoulder in both directions and pointed his wand at the door.

" _Alohomora!_ " The latch clicked and he pushed open the door. "Professor?" he called out as he stepped in. Draco closed the door firmly and looked around. All around the room, objects vibrated and levitated above their surfaces. Épiphanie was huddled against the wall, clutching her rosary and muttering novenas as she rocked back and forth in an insistent rhythm. "Épiphanie?"

Her eyes were blank as she continued to murmur softly. Draco rushed to her side and grabbed her arms, giving her a gentle shake. "Ma Zirondelle! What's wrong? What's happened?" He hadn't seen her so worked up since the time he woke up in the hospital wing after Nott attacked her on the Astronomy Tower. Draco pulled her into his embrace. When he touched her, a strong current rushed through him like a jolt of high-powered electricity. The surge of magic was momentarily overwhelming, but Draco managed to absorb it, maintaining his grip about her. He stroked her hair, whispering to her. "I'm here, beloved. Please speak to me!" His ministrations were useless against her out of control magic. Draco stared at her and backed away. He bit his lip and took a deep breath before pointing his wand at her.

" _Ipsam Carnem!_ Épiphanie! Look at me right now!" The curse burned across her chest as the lash made its mark. Épiphanie gasped and let out a cry of surprise. She looked up at Draco, eyes wide.

"I'm sorry, beloved." He pulled her to her feet. "You were so far gone. Please tell me what has happened to work you into such a state."

Épiphanie had opened her mouth to speak when her stomach heaved and she pushed past him, staggering into the bath to empty its contents into the toilet. After several minutes, she managed to lift her head and look at her husband with watery eyes.

"Draco, we have to get out of here! We have to get out of here as soon as possible!"

"Yes, my love. I know. We're going to find a solution. I'm working on it. Why has this gotten you so worked up suddenly?"

"Oh, fuck! Drake! I messed up!" she exclaimed, gripping his sleeves desperately as tears spilled from her eyes.

"How? What happened?" Draco implored. "Did someone hurt you? Is that what this is about? Did _you_ hurt someone?" His eyes were wide with trepidation.

"No—no! It's—"

"What is it!" he demanded.

"I saw him! I _talked to him!"_

"Who? You talked to—you don't mean—"

"Voldemort!"

Draco reeled as if he'd been punched in the gut. His glamour disappeared, revealing his pale face and hair and he gasped as if all the air had been sucked from the room. He stared at his wife in disbelief and terror.

"What?!"

He cast a privacy charm on the room and Épiphanie recounted the details of her lunch meeting with Crouch.

"You met with Barty Crouch?" Draco was astounded.

"I received an owl from him last night after dinner. I spoke with Dumbledore about it, and he encouraged me to go. Everything seemed okay, and then this hooded wizard walked by, and—I realize now that he confounded me, or at least, he attempted to—I just remember that I was in the middle of a comment to Mr. Crouch and suddenly I lost my train of thought. I also felt this ice cold shudder as he passed. When I left my meeting, I found him in a room with this dark-haired woman. He was waiting for me!"

Draco now felt physically ill. He was afraid to ask what happened next, but he had to know. He staggered and fell into one of the chairs in front of the fireplace as Épiphanie began to pace.

"A dark-haired woman? Did she—" he faltered. "Long, curly hair and heavily-lidded eyes?"

"Yes! He called her 'Bella', I think. She was _not_ happy that I was there, especially when he dismissed her from the room. Do you know who she is?"

"My aunt—Bellatrix" he replied, eyes closed and shoulders slumped.

"The one who tortured Hermione?" she asked incredulously.

"She and her husband are also responsible for what happened to Neville's parents. And Bellatrix is the one who killed Sirius. The woman was deranged! She was also his most devoted follower! Merlin and Salazar, Épiphanie!" Draco ran his fingers through his hair, closing his eyes. "Do you think he knows you're an imposter?"

"I don't think so. He called me by Philomène's name, but Draco, I think he was testing me! Like he wanted to know just what I am capable of!"

"What did he say? What did he do?"

"He kept trying to get into my head—I held him off, but when I did, I got a glimpse of his memories."

"You—" Draco started to speak, but she cut him off.

"I saw him as a student with Slughorn. It was very brief and I don't know what they discussed, but the look on Slughorn's face was not positive." Épiphanie stopped pacing and ran her fingers through her hair. "There was another memory—he was in the second-floor girls'. Where Artemis was born—Myrtle's bathroom! I think—I think I saw him open the Chamber of Secrets!"

"He knows you're a legilimens! Wait—the Chamber of Secrets? You know where it is?" Draco's eyes were wide and he leapt to his feet. Épiphanie launched herself into his arms, gripping his shirt.

"It's worse—God Draco! Drake, I screwed up so bad!"

"What?" His heart hammered in his chest, dreading what she might say next.

"When I—when I went to leave, he told me that I couldn't so easily refuse him—and before I realized what I was doing, I stopped and—" She was trembling violently against him, but Draco took her arms and held her away, looking into her eyes.

"I don't understand. You didn't agree to _join_ him, did you?"

"No! No! But I shouldn't have said anything! I didn't even think about it—he couldn't even have known that I would understand what he was saying, because—because he said it—"

"Oh, please, Merlin, please, no!" Draco breathed.

"He said it in _parseltongue!"_ Épiphanie gripped his shirt so tightly; he could feel the threads in the seams beginning to break. "Draco, now he _knows_ what I can do! My head aches from the effort to keep my mind occupied or blank, because I don't know if he'll try again to invade it!" She sank to the floor and buried her face in her hands. "Fuck! I should have just—I thought I had it under control! Why did I go looking for him?" Épiphanie jerked her head up suddenly. "You don't think he _made_ me come to him, do you?"

"I—but you said—what happened exactly at that moment?" Draco asked. He knelt in front of her, taking her hands.

"Well, I was talking to Crouch about how Grindelwald had infiltrated the MACUSA, and still managed to escape after being captured. The wizard—I suppose it was Voldemort, but he was wearing hood—passed me just then. I'm not sure exactly what I had intended to say next, but I felt as if someone had poured ice down my spine. I just recall struggling for a moment with what to say next."

"What did you say next?"

"I warned Mr. Crouch that the ministry had a serious threat on their hands and that they had to be prepared to go to war. I didn't want to let on more than I should. That seemed to get Crouch fired up and we parted shortly after. I was kind of pissed that someone tried to get at me, and I wanted to find him. As soon as I stepped into the room, I knew who he was."

"But you don't think he suspected who you really are? Are you certain?" Draco asked.

"He didn't give any indication that he thought I was anyone other than Philomène Legendre. He knew that Dumbledore had hired her—me—and confessed to have listened in on my conversation with Mr. Crouch. I think if he knew anything else, he wouldn't have been trying so hard to get into my head. It definitely unsettled him that I was not only able to hold him off, but able to see memories he wanted to keep hidden."

They heard the clock chime the hour.

"It's almost time for dinner. If we're both absent, people will notice." Draco pulled her to her feet, and they straightened their clothes.

Épiphanie splashed some cool water over her face to calm herself and took a moment, hoping to reign in the lingering raw magic. She felt calmer, but she could still feel a strong vibration of magical energy surrounding her.

"Let's go." Draco reached for her hand. He winced a bit, but gripped it tightly and gave her a smile.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" she raised a brow.

"What?" Draco looked at her curiously. She circled an open hand in front of her face.

"Your parents are a bit young for such a shock, don't you think?"

"Oh!" Realization dawned on him and he waved his wand.

Once the face of Lucas Prewett was smiling at her again, Draco suggested that they exit through the Defense classroom.

"Less questions."

"If you say so," she replied. Draco leaned in for a kiss. Épiphanie hesitated a moment before pressing her lips to his. "Surely, I'm a better kisser than Weasley!" he grumbled between kisses, giving her a squeeze.

"Well, unless you've kissed Hermione, we'll never know, because this is as close as I'd like to get to finding out what his kiss is like," she smiled, noting that her magic had settled a bit more. "Now that you've ruined the moment..." She waved her hand at the door and it swung open.

"I _really_ appreciate you loaning me the book, Professor. I think it will be most helpful," he said as they stepped into the hall.

"Good evening Professor Legendre, Mr. Prewett." They turned to see a thin young man with a tremulous smile, nodding nervously as he approached.

"Oh, good evening, Professor Quirrell," said Draco. The thin man gave him a curious look.

"I-I was unaw-ware we'd been introduced," he stammered.

"Well, not officially, sir." Draco lied to cover his mistake. Of course he'd known the nervous man from his childhood, having taken Defense Against the Dark Arts from him during his first year, but he shouldn't have spoken so familiarly in this era. "I happened to have observed a few students greeting you after the start-of-term feast when we first arrived."

"Oh. Y-yes, of-of course."

"Mademoiselle Legendre, Professor Quirrell teaches Muggle Studies."

"Really?" Épiphanie smiled at Quirrell, who blushed quite vividly. "Well, I am rather curious about Muggle life here in the United Kingdom. I'm sure you know that in America, we've only recently begun to engage limited contact with Muggles. I'd be interested in learning more. Perhaps we could have tea sometime?"

"Th-that would b-be l-lovely!" He gave another tremulous smile.

"Wonderful! This weekend, perhaps?" Épiphanie suggested.

"I look f-forward t-to it!" Quirrell nodded nervously before bustling off down the corridor. Épiphanie started off, but Draco held her back until the other wizard disappeared around a corner.

"This weekend? Surely you don't think we'll still be here!"

"I hope not, but if we are, it might be useful to get to know him—at least for me. How do you know him? I don't recall him being a professor here."

"He was the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor my first year," Draco whispered.

" _Oh?_ How'd he go from Muggle Studies to _that?_ He seems awfully skittish." They began to walk towards the Great Hall.

"It seems that way. I don't know if it was an act or not, but you need to be very careful with him, beloved." They had reached the top of the marble staircase.

"Okay." She was skeptical. "He doesn't seem much of a threat."

"I think Harry would beg to differ, seeing as how—"

Their conversation was interrupted by a commotion down below. They rushed forward to investigate.

* * *

They arrived in the Entrance Hall to find a crowd of Gryffindors facing several Slytherins, all with wands drawn. Lucius Malfoy stood behind Severus Snape. James Potter glared behind a badly swollen face, clearly suffering from a stinging hex. Looking at the dark-haired eleven-year-old's swollen face, Draco was reminded of a fateful night at Malfoy Manor when his life would suddenly and dramatically change.

"What exactly is going on here?" Draco demanded. "Duelling in the corridors is strictly forbidden!" The students at the perimeter of the crowd scattered, scurrying into the Great Hall.

"It wasn't a duel, it was unprovoked _attack!_ " James spat, stepping menacingly close to Severus.

"I did no such thing!" Severus argued.

"Mr. Malfoy?" Draco turned to Lucius for more information.

"I'm sorry, sir. When I arrived, the spell had already been cast. I only sought to prevent a duel."

Draco arched an eyebrow. He'd always been able to tell when Lucius was lying. Not the least sign being that he claimed to have been nowhere near the scene of the crime, yet when they'd arrived, he too had his wand drawn on the younger Gryffindors.

"Your wand please, Mr. Snape," said Épiphanie. Young Severus looked at her with an expression that wavered between nervousness and derision as he reluctantly handed over his wand. " _Prior Incantato!_ " She pointed her wand at his.

The wand vibrated for a moment and then a semi-transparent bouquet of flowers appeared in the air. She noted the bundle of butterfly ginger lilies with a slight smile. Épiphanie gave the wand back to him.

"Mr. Potter." She held out her hand. James scowled at Severus as he handed over his wand. She cast the spell again, and saw a form taking shape from the feet up. It was apparent that the victim of the wand's last spell had been hit with a jelly-legs jinx. Épiphanie had a pretty good idea of who that wizard might be, and ended her spell before the form could take full shape above the waist.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter," she said.

"But—"

"If you'd like to serve detention once your face has healed, I will be happy to accommodate you," she said. He shook his head. "I figured that much. Mr. Lupin, escort Mr. Potter to the Hospital Wing."

"The rest of you lot clear out!" Draco snapped.

The remaining students hurried to the Great Hall as Remus and James turned in the other direction and headed off to the infirmary. He noticed Lily looking back at Severus with a mixture of sadness and curiosity. Lucius tugged Severus' sleeve and whispered in his ear as they made their way to the Slytherin table. The first year followed the blond and took a seat beside him where he was greeted by the older student's circle of friends, a sight which made Draco scowl as he took his seat at the staff table.

* * *

Draco was frustrated that every attempt he'd made to sneak away to the Astronomy Tower was thwarted by Horace Slughorn's insistence that they work late into the night on perfecting new formulas for the wolfsbane potion. Draco inquired as to how the professor would be testing the potions, but the professor always seemed to find a way to change the subject to avoid answering the question, saying only that he hoped to have a usable potion ahead of the next full moon. Draco suspected that the potion was for Remus Lupin, but he wondered if the boy knew that the professor was experimenting with his condition and whether Dumbledore had consciously allowed such a thing to happen.

Between assisting with research, teaching and grading, the weekend arrived without the opportunity for the couple to steal any private time together, as their increasingly busy week prevented them from even attending any meals other than breakfast together. Draco was dismayed to realize that Épiphanie would have to make good on her promise to have tea with Quirinus Quirrell.

He pulled a face when he arrived in the Entrance Hall Saturday afternoon to see Quirrell offering Épiphanie his elbow as they started off across the castle grounds towards the gates. Draco was surprised to find himself making the sign of the cross and muttering one of his wife's novenas as he watched them disappear into the distance.

"That's a rather odd incantation, cousin." Draco started and turned to see Narcissa approaching him with a smile. "What does it do?"

"Oh, erm—nothing actually," he shrugged. "It's rather a bad habit I picked up from a girl I knew at Beauxbatons. Muggleborn."

Narcissa gave him a look of startled distaste. " _Muggleborn?_ Oh, cousin, not you too!" she exclaimed, her hand fluttering to her throat. Draco scoffed.

"Dear me, no! It is but an unfortunate result of my not practicing due diligence before asking the girl out. It wasn't until she invited me to tea over holiday that I discovered my faux pas. So sad, actually—had she been a pureblood, she would have been quite a prospect for marriage. Ah well, c'est la vie. You live, and you learn."

He turned up the marble staircase, and she fell into step beside him. The two strolled amiably along the third floor corridor. "I couldn't help but notice that young Malfoy appears quite taken with you. Are your feelings the same?"

Draco knew he was venturing into dangerous territory, asking about his parents' relationship. However, he was curious. His parents were about as affectionate with one another as they had been with him—which, as far as Draco was concerned, was precious little. He wondered if theirs was a love match.

"Well, Lucius certainly has good breeding. The Malfoys are quite respected, as you well know." The corridors were largely empty as students were outdoors, enjoying their first weekend at school, not yet burdened by copious amounts of classwork. They nodded intermittently to an occasional passing professor.

"Yes. Normans, I believe," he said. Narcissa gave him a look of surprise.

"You're familiar with the Malfoy history?" she asked.

"Well, one is encouraged to make himself knowledgeable about the members of the Twenty-Eight. It does help a gentleman of my position to make informed decisions on a number of matters—not the least of which is courtship. I might have saved myself that bit of embarrassment had I done the same while in France." He chuckled lightly. She joined in. "With that in mind, I do recall there being some talk about Abraxas perhaps having a hand in the previous Minister leaving his post rather unceremoniously."

"So I've heard. But honestly cousin—the man _was_ muggleborn. Who knows to what bizarre types of ailments they are prone."

"So true. I've heard some disturbing stories." They had reached the Clock Tower Courtyard and stepped into the afternoon sun, taking a seat beside the antique fountain at its center. "I am still curious, Narcissa. It seems fairly obvious in his manner that Lucius has intentions. While there is certainly benefit from attaching the Malfoy name to the Noble and Ancient House of Black, would such an arrangement be agreeable to you?"

Narcissa gave him a discerning look, her blue eyes turning icy. Draco almost drew back. He was accustomed to his mother's haughty demeanor. He had even seen her frigid with terror, but suspicion and coldness was a complete surprise to him.

"What exactly are you getting at, Lucas? Is there something you believe I should know?" she demanded. Draco actually leaned away from his young mother.

"Goodness, cousin! Why so passionate? I am only inquiring out of the genuine concern any male member of the family would have for an eligible female member." He gave her reassuring smile and took her hand. "Narcissa, I realize that we are not well acquainted, but we _are_ family and I am honour bound to look after your well-being. As I am working here, it would be folly for me to ignore such a duty."

Narcissa's features softened and she cast her eyes away for a moment. When she looked back at him, there was a different intensity in them.

"Yes, of course. Forgive me cousin. It's just that I feel so overwhelmed at times. Bella has made a respectable marriage with Rodolphus Lestrange. However, Andromeda—we aren't to speak of it, but I know you've heard—she's disgraced herself with that muggleborn! Now, it's imperative that I too make a respectable match like Bellatrix!"

"I see." Draco noticed that his mother's eyes glistened with unshed tears. He felt awkward and ashamed to have been the cause of her distress.

"I—I like Lucius. It's just that—well I can never be sure of his true feelings. He's always so controlled and calculating." She looked at her hands. Draco nodded sympathetically. Of course he knew all about Lucius' shrewd and devious manner.

"I suppose that I could _learn_ to love him. He has his moments of sincere kindness, and he can be awfully dashing!" Narcissa sighed. "I should probably count myself fortunate. Poor Elvira Crouch has just been betrothed to that _crass_ Gideon Goyle! They're not even listed in the Twenty-Eight!"

Draco didn't bother to hide his scowl as he thought of his beloved oldest daughter's biological father, remembering how Harry had described the manner in which he dismissed the kidnapping of his only daughter and the murder of his wife at the hands of his own comrade. Narcissa, noticing his dark expression, touched his cheek reassuringly, and Draco suppressed the urge to lean into the gesture and take her hand as he had so often done throughout his youth, when she'd shown him this limited affection.

"Do not worry for me, cousin. Ours is a tradition borne of the ages. Mother and father have managed to keep their bond, despite the lack of a male heir. I am sure that whomever they select as a suitable match—be it Lucius, or another worthy wizard—I shall endeavor to be a proper wife."

Draco gave her a warm smile. "I have no doubt that you will, cousin. Any man should consider himself most honoured to have your hand. If he doesn't, I will see that I _personally_ make him pay." The words of his pledge came out in a venomous growl that made her look at him in surprise. Draco winked and patted her hand. She gave him a hug.

"Narcissa!" Draco turned to see Lucius striding out into the courtyard towards them. Several expressions moved across his face as he approached—at first hard and covetous, then dark and suspicious. Finally, his features settled into his characteristic cool and calculating smirk. "Ah, Mr. Prewett! I do hope I am not interrupting; only I had hoped that Miss Black might do me the honor of a stroll along the lakeshore. It is such a lovely day."

Lucius' gaze was almost challenging. For a brief moment, Draco was confused as to why the Slytherin would be jealous of Lucas Prewett. After all, he and Narcissa were family. It then dawned on him that he recalled his father once commenting disdainfully that the Blacks were not entirely above intermarriage in order to preserve their pureblood status and that Walburga and Orion—Sirius' parents—were, in fact, second cousins. He wondered if perhaps Lucius perceived this private conversation as a more intimate moment than it actually was.

"Well, I do have some neglected research to attend in the library. If Narcissa is so inclined, then I shan't impose upon her time any further." Draco gave Narcissa a pointed look, as if to silently say, "You don't have to do anything you do not wish to do."

"A stroll along the water sounds delightful, Mr. Malfoy." She smiled at Lucius before turning to Draco and giving him a slight curtsy. "Cousin, I have enjoyed our little chat. I shall write to Mother and Father, letting them know that you are taking a keen interest in my academic and social well-being."

"Please give them my regards. Well then, I'll leave you to it. Good day to you both." Draco gave them a nod, fixing Lucius with a significant gaze, before turning away and heading back into the castle.


	12. Les Liaisons Dangereuses

** _Épiphanie quotes from Walt Whitman's "Song of Myself" when she consoles Draco._

* * *

"Muggle Studies! That sounds very cool! What's it like?" Épiphanie gave Quirrell an attentive smile as she stirred sugar into her tea.

"Oh, it-it isn't v-very cold at-at all! The c-classroom is quite c-comfortable!" he replied.

"Oh, no. Forgive me. I didn't mean to imply that the classroom is cold. Um, in America, it's a colloquialism if you will. It simply means that something is interesting or well-liked." She sipped her tea. "At any rate, Ilvermorny offered _Understanding No-Maj Society._ However, it was poorly attended, except by mostly half-blood students. I understand that it was made a required part of curriculum this term, what with the recent repeal of Rappaport's Law."

"Alas, it is much the same here at Hogwarts. Muggleborn students feel no need to matriculate, given that they are already immersed in the muggle world. Pureblood students either feel it is beneath them to have any knowledge of muggles, or if they do take the course, it is merely for how does one say— _kicks and giggles?_ "

"But it does seem like it would be an interesting and useful course to take."

"Oh, the subject is _fascinating!_ " Quirrell exclaimed. "The way that muggles have managed to adapt their lives without the use of magic is extraordinary! I think I should like to ride an aeroplane just once! It must be frightfully electrifying. How about you? Is there perhaps one muggle invention or concept that you might like to try?" He leaned forward.

"Well…" Épiphanie pulled a thoughtful expression. "I think I might like to watch television." She did, in fact, miss having a set since moving into the Manor.

"Oh, yes! The boxes with the moving picture stories! That _does_ sound intriguing!"

"But, to be honest, there is something I am more curious about, Professor—"

"Please, call me Quirinus." He smiled. Épiphanie was taken aback momentarily, detecting a slight glint of seduction in his gaze, and it hadn't escaped her notice that his nervous tremor had all but disappeared as their conversation progressed.

"Of course, Quirinus. Tell me, how does the course address muggle race relations?"

"I—I don't follow." He paused, cup only a few inches from his saucer. He returned it with a clatter.

"Well, understanding the technology of the muggle world is one thing, as is having a general grasp of how their governmental hierarchy functions, but what about an understanding of its interactions as a society?" She warmed her tea and took a sip.

"W-well, I fail to see how that would be of benefit to witches and wizards."

"Wouldn't it? Take America for example—as we enter a post-Rappaport era, many wizards and witches are excited to venture out into the muggle world and enjoy a certain level of social interaction with No-Majs, but in the American South, a lot of mages are conflicted. In the magical world, race seems clearly to be a non-issue, particularly compared with blood purity."

Quirrell's eyes darted around the small eatery at the mention of blood purity. Épiphanie noted this, but continued on unfazed.

"For American No-Majs—I mean—muggles, race is quite a volatile issue, and for pureblood witches and wizards of African descent, the idea of leaving their comfortable magical enclaves for that world is a frightening concept. At the same time that Rappaport's law was being repealed, the No-Maj government was declaring an end to laws aimed at this group of society which demanded separate education, separate housing and employment, and prohibited miscegenation. In some cases, couples who intermarried could face imprisonment? There are even societies made up of those who support the ideals of such superiority. They often act with impunity—committing assaults, arson, rape, torture, even murder. This is all to ensure that ethnic minorities stay in their rightful place—subservience. To them, racial separation and purity must be maintained at all costs."

Quirrell sipped his tea, eyes riveted on Épiphanie.

"So you see why it is important even for magical folk to understand. One must agree that a life lived in fear is no life at all."

As the words escaped her lips, Épiphanie realized that while she was making one point, Quirrell was reading into it an entirely different meaning. His eyes blazed with passion and he leaned towards her. Épiphanie felt a tingle at her back and she took a deep breath.

"Well, I didn't mean to go all political on you, sir. We were meant to be having a friendly chat between professors."

"Oh, think nothing of it, Mademoiselle. I find your passion to be engagingly provocative. Beauty, brains, power—you are quite the formidable witch." His voice dropped in timbre and his brow twitched as a flicker of seductiveness traveled across his features.

"I'm sure my passion and ability pale in comparison to others." She gave a self-effacing shrug.

"I c-couldn't help b-but notice that you and M-Mr. P-prewett appear to be r-rather well acquainted." He topped off his teacup. Draco had said that they would have to tread carefully. Over the week, they'd barely been seen together outside of the first few meals. How interesting, she thought, that with the question, the stutter returned. Was he intentionally being disarming?

"Oh, no. Not really. We did get to know one another a bit during the start-of-term feast, but…" She let the thought hang in the air. "I suppose we should be heading back?" she suggested.

"Oh, y-yes. Of-of c-course."

* * *

She was watching the thestrals once again. Their graceful swooping flight was calming, and she felt her shoulders relax as the light breeze lifted her hair. She thought again of her flight and stepped up onto the crenel, closing her eyes as she lifted her arms and leaned forward.

Suddenly, Épiphanie was grabbed about her waist and snatched from the edge of the parapet. She rolled from her grip of her attacker into a catlike crouch, drawing her wand. The hex on the tip of her tongue froze when she saw that her assailant was Draco. She straightened herself, standing up and dropping her wand hand.

"Oh, fuck! What the hell?" Draco simply stared from the edge of the parapet aghast.

"What the _hell_ were you doing?" he demanded. Despite his glamour as Lucas Prewett, she could see the stricken expression on his face. "By Salazar, I thought you were about to jump! What were you _thinking?_ "

Épiphanie looked at the floor and shrugged. She couldn't meet his eyes. Draco approached her, taking her chin in his hand. Grey eyes searched brown ones.

"You _were_ going to jump, weren't you?" His voice was husky. Épiphanie could feel his fingers trembling beneath her chin. She took his hand.

"I—honestly, I don't know." She looked away again, her gaze focused out on the night sky. "I was just watching the thestrals and thinking about that night when—"

Draco backed away from her. His concerned expression morphed into disbelief.

"You would leave me, beloved?" he whispered, giving her a wounded look. "Leave our family?"

It was Épiphanie's turn to stare in disbelief. "Oh, my God, no! No, never, mon furet! I would never!" She looked up at him plaintively. "Don't you remember that night?" she whispered. "I survived that fall! I can fly! You know this! You saw me!"

"I—I saw you, and it all came flooding back! You—him—you falling. How many times must you cheat death? I just—I can't bear to think of losing you yet again, my love!"

Épiphanie reached up to touch Draco's face. He grabbed her hand and pulled her to him, holding her tightly against him. She could feel his racing heartbeat.

"I celebrate myself, and sing myself, and what I assume you shall assume, for every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you." She looked deeply into his eyes. "If we fall…"

"We fall together!" Draco released her hands, inclining his head to hers as he pulled Épiphanie in for a kiss. It was hot and breathy, and passionately desperate. She pushed back, looking towards the stairs. She heard a sound like the swish of robes.

"What was—"

"Don't worry," he whispered, groping her hungrily. "There's just us and the wind."

Draco snaked his fingers through her hair, pulling her head back, and began to kiss her neck, his lips lightly grazing her collarbone and hovering beneath her throat. She murmured softly, a smile spreading across her lips. "Oh, Merlin!" he murmured, his excitement thrumming around her and his erection strained against his trousers. Draco, hungry with desire, tightened his grip on her hair and pulled downward, forcing Épiphanie to her knees while he used his other hand to free his throbbing member.

He thrust into her mouth, holding her head with both hands and directing her actions. Épiphanie winced, gripping his wrists, even as she moaned around him, and he nearly came undone, shoving down her throat until she began to thrash about, struggling to breathe. Draco released her and she gasped, barely catching herself as she collapsed backward, drawing in a deep breath. He dropped to his knees and effortlessly ripped open her robes, pushing her onto her back and straddling her. Épiphanie shuddered as the rush of cool air prickled her skin with goosebumps and made her dusky nipples stand at attention. She lifted her arms to cover herself, and he caught her wrists in his hand, pinning them above her head. Draco pinched one dark nipple while his tongue darted out to tease the other. Épiphanie let out a hiss and arched her back. He gave her a lascivious smirk as he reached down and teased her, sinking one finger at a time into her wet and aching pussy.

She lifted her hips and he stilled his hand. She whimpered, bucking beneath him. Draco moved his hand and ground his pelvis against hers, his hard cock sliding over her slick pussy.

"Call me Lucas," he whispered. He hovered over her, tantalizingly, his heavy member just at her opening. "Say, 'yes, Lucas.' Say it!" he demanded, pressing just a little more. Épiphanie let out a feline growl.

"Y-yes, Lucas!" she stuttered, her eyes squeezed shut.

"Look at me." He pushed in a little bit more. "Look at me!" Draco grabbed her chin. She snapped her eyes open, focusing on the intense grey eyes in the face that was fringed with auburn hair. Draco pushed all the way in viciously. She let out a cry that was stifled into a muffled yelp when he pressed his hand over her mouth.

Épiphanie arched upward to Draco as he pounded into her relentlessly. Her breath was ragged, nearly cut off by the fingers beneath her nose, as he continued to hold her down and suppress her cries of pleasure.

"Fuck! Yes! You don't know how I've been longing to have you!" he whispered. "Look at me! Look at me!"

Épiphanie whimpered helplessly against the back of his hand. Her body was on fire and she could feel her magic spreading out. She could hear the telescopes begin to rattle on their tripods. Draco's breathing was harsh and strained as his climax mounted and he struggled to hold it off. Épiphanie heard another sound…a faint breathless wheezing from the other side of the stairs. As her passion reached a fevered pitch and surged out to engulf her lover, it collided with the essence of a hidden other.

Draco felt the drowning breathlessness beginning to take hold of him. However, he felt something different this time. He wasn't on the edge of lifelessness as his release began to rise. It was if some of her power was being siphoned off as it did when he'd shared her with another in their circle. Had his mind not become a shuddering mass of ecstasy in the next moment, he might have pondered it. He groaned his release and stiffened as she jerked into her own orgasm. Draco repaired her robes and they quickly dressed and cleaned themselves. As they descended the stairs, Épiphanie leveled a dark gaze into the shadows opposite where a disillusioned figure shuddered in sated astonishment.


	13. Awakening the Half-Blood Prince

The knock on her office door distracted Épiphanie from her grading. She looked up from a seventh year essay.

"Come in!" She waved her hand and the parchments rolled and stacked themselves into organized piles. Épiphanie was surprised to see young Severus step nervously into the room.

"Mr. Snape! Please, have a seat." She gestured to the chair in front of her desk.

Severus sat perfunctorily as he gave the space an appraising examination. Aside from a mirror beside the door and an empty portrait frame, he noticed that the professor had no personal mementos in the office. There were no picture frames on her neatly organized desk and no tchotchkes on the shelves. There wasn't even a graduate certificate from Ilvermorny School. He was curious about the attractive American who dared to wear trousers in class. The only other female professor who wore such was Madame Hooch, the flying instructor. Snape turned his eyes upon her to find the witch smiling at him.

"It's pretty spare isn't it?" she said. "But I kinda came at short notice, I didn't think about bringing anything personal. I guess I should probably send for a few nice things from home."

"You don't strike me as the frilly type," he replied. Épiphanie chuckled and her smile widened.

"Well, I think you have me well read, my friend. Now, you let someone invite me to a ball, and I'll truss up in a dozen petticoats, pearls and pins. Outside of that, I'm not much for prissy, fussy robes and fancy hair. It's a lot harder to win a duel if you have to worry about tripping over skirts and petticoats. Although, I must admit, I've seen some pretty awesome wizards duel in robes that sweep the floor." She smiled warmly. Severus' expression remained impassive.

"There's been talk among the seventh years. Is it true that you can cast a patronus?"

"I can. You'll learn that later, though. It's rather advanced magic. I don't know of any first year students who can manage it; certainly not a corporeal patronus."

Severus nodded curtly. "The Slytherins said that you defeated Lucius Malfoy without a wand."

"Uh-huh." She knew where this conversation was going. Épiphanie leaned back in her chair and flicked her wand. A decorative tin floated into the office from her private quarters. She set it on the desk and opened the lid, pushing it forward. "Cheese straw?"

"I don't believe that I've ever—"

"Oh, they're _delicious!_ Cheese straws are a popular snack in the Southern United States. It's sort of a biscuit made with sharp cheddar and light spices. Try one!" she encouraged, snagging one of the snack sticks for herself and popping it into her mouth. The boy tentatively plucked a cheese straw from the tin and bit into it. She saw his brow lift and he took another bite. She smiled. "Told you so! And if you're going to have cheese straws, you just gotta have a glass of tea!"

An elf appeared holding a tray with a pitcher of tea, two ice-filled glasses and a small bowl of lemon slices. Épiphanie filled the glasses and squeezed a lemon wedge into hers. Severus looked at her curiously. He had never seen anyone drink tea over _ice_ before. She gave him an encouraging smile. He picked up his glass.

"Cheers!" she raised her glass and took a sip.

Severus took a cautious sip and was pleasantly surprised at the refreshing taste. He helped himself to another snack before setting down his glass and biting his lip for a second before he squared his shoulders and lifted his chin.

"Professor, can you teach me to perform wandless magic?" he asked. His words came out in a rush and he seemed to hold his breath after he spoke.

Épiphanie exhaled slowly and pursed her lips before she spoke.

"Severus, I'm not certain that wandless magic is a skill that can be taught. I'm sure that when you were younger, you were able to do some things without a wand, right?"

"Of course," he replied haughtily.

"Right. Most young wizards and witches are able to do that, but casting complex spells without a wand is extremely difficult. Wandless magic is particularly unpredictable and can result in tragic consequences. Very few witches and wizards of age, and almost _no_ children, are capable of controlling wandless magic. It is important to understand also that wands were not always in common use in Africa or among Native American people, and I am a descendant of both these ethnic groups. That is likely why I am able to perform and control wandless magic. I honestly have no idea. Still," she picked up her wand. "As you can see, it's not something that even I do on a regular basis." She leaned forward conspiratorially. "It gives people the wrong idea about my powers." She winked.

The boy still did not smile. In fact, Épiphanie thought that he withered a bit with her explanation. She saw images of him being tormented by James Potter and his friends and the look of pity that Lily always gave him afterwards. The pain and embarrassment on his face, in those thoughts, mirrored the expression that he now wore as he sat across the desk from her, his head slightly tilted to hide behind a fringe of lank, dark hair. She sighed, worrying her lip as she debated whether the idea forming in her head would have an impact upon the young wizard's life path.

"Severus, can you keep a secret?" she asked, though she knew full well that Severus would hold on to a number of monumentally important secrets until his dying day.

"Better than anyone."

"If you promise not to tell anyone, I will teach you to duel."

The boy's lips slowly curved into a genuine smile. She smiled back and he reached into the tin for another cheese straw.

* * *

Draco cast a final cursory glance around the small potions laboratory to ensure that there were no open flames or volatile ingredients left open before he waved his wand, lowering the lights and stepping out of the room. The coolness of the corridor was a welcome distraction after spending the better part of the morning brewing several variations of the wolfsbane potion. His robes felt heavy and the facial hair that Épiphanie had given him itched after the prolonged period of moving amongst steaming cauldrons in the stifling room.

He hurried to his quarters and stripped off his clothes, stepping into the shower. He hoped to spend some time with Épiphanie that evening before heading up to the Astronomy Tower to work on finding a correct setting for the time-turner. It had been his intention to discover a solution the previous night, before he discovered his wife about to cast herself from the battlement. Draco took himself in hand as he found himself aroused at the memory of their late night passion. He pressed the other hand heavily against the shower wall, his fingernails scratching the stone as he leaned in and wanked himself to relief.

After satisfying his urges and washing up, Draco rushed to dress and checked his appearance, making sure that his glamour hadn't worn off. He gazed at his reflection, remarking to himself that he did rather surprisingly resemble Bill Weasley—minus the scarred face. He had never given much thought to the familial relationships on the Black family tree before that moment. He tugged at his robes and gave his hair a toss before securing his quarters and heading for the dungeon's exit.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Prewett," Lucius greeted Draco curtly as both wizards approached the common room entrance at the same time.

"Mr. Malfoy. Heading out for a bit of leisure on the grounds, are we?" he gestured for the boy to exit ahead of him. Draco knew the hazards of turning one's back on Lucius Malfoy, even in a non-confrontational environment.

"Prefects meeting."

"Ah. Professor Slughorn had quite a bit of praise for your essay on Golpalott's Third Law. I look forward to reading it." They fell into step beside one another.

"Thank you, sir. I hope you find it as interesting a read." They mounted the stairs before either spoke again. "Narcissa tells me that you attended Beauxbatons Academy. Would you not have preferred to complete your master's studies in Paris or perhaps even Luxembourg?"

"Well, my education at Beauxbatons was a decision made largely by my parents. And while there are notable masters programs at L'Academie du Magique and Der Fachhéichschoul vun Magescher, I am sure you are aware that Professor Slughorn is considered a foremost authority on potions and his apothecary is quite renowned. I could have researched his works at any masters school, but why not study at the hand of the master himself?" Draco replied. Personally, he found Snape to be a much more thorough instructor—his ability to manipulate the subtleties of complex potions was remarkable, as was his exacting nature and attention to detail. Of course, young Lucius would have no way of knowing this just yet. Draco had observed this talent already beginning to show itself in the first days of class.

"If I may say so, you appear to be quite taken by my cousin."

"Narcissa is a lovely girl. Of course, I don't have to tell _you_ that her family has the right kind of breeding," Lucius replied.

"Naturally. That is why I am sure that you appreciate my interest in her welfare." Draco came to a stop at the base of the marble stairs in the Entrance Hall and turned to Lucius. He stood a few inches taller than his father, and had only noticed it now, as he wasn't shrinking back under the older wizard's authority.

"Please, speak plainly, Mr. Prewett." Lucius gave him a challenging look, and his wand hand flinched ever so slightly at his side.

Draco caught the slight gesture in his peripheral vision, and lifted one brow the slimmest margin, as he coldly returned the gaze in the other's identical grey eyes.

"I _believe_ that I just did, Mr. Malfoy. Good day to you." The battle of wills lasted a minute longer before Lucius caved, giving him a brusque nod and mounting the stairs.

* * *

" _Protego!"_ Severus panted. His shield held, but the professor's knockback jinx still caused him to stumble a few steps.

"Although you feel that you must stand your ground, it is perfectly alright to take a step back. A step to the side would be even better; it allows you to dodge the trajectory of the spell. Remember that you and I are in controlled circumstances," she explained. They were in a long hall on the seventh floor. Professor Legendre had kept her promise to teach him to duel. He had been successful with a sustainable shield charm and all of the first year combat spells, including the knockback jinx, smokescreen and Verdimillious charm and was eager to move on to more advanced spells.

She obliged him by teaching him the disarming charm. "This, along with _Protego,_ is an absolutely essential part of your arsenal. They should become so second nature that you can cast them without speaking," she said as he took a moment to catch his breath. "Were this an actual life-or-death battle, you have to be prepared to dodge curses and spells as well as block them—even anticipate them. As you become more skilled, you can cast and block quickly, but each time you fire off a spell, you momentarily lose your shield. Therefore, you must engage whatever opportunities there are to protect yourself."

"Have you ever…created your own spell?" he asked.

"I have," she replied.

"For defense?"

"Maybe." She shrugged.

"Would you teach it to me?" Severus asked. Épiphanie shook her head.

"I don't think so, my friend. A girl's always gotta have a secret weapon, and that particular bit of magic is mine. Only one other person knows it and he happens to be my second."

"Oh." He lowered his head, hiding his face behind that fringe of hair. Épiphanie sighed.

"Severus. Look at me please." After a moment, he slowly raised his eyes to meet hers.

"You're doing well. You're very talented. Look at what you've accomplished in just a few hours. A lot of wizards and witches your age take months to reach just this level of wandwork. Don't be so hard on yourself, and stop letting Potter and his friends wind you up. Focus on your strengths. There are so many that you have yet to discover, my friend."

"How would you know?" he asked, scowling.

"Call it a hunch. Let's just say I have a knack for guessing which people will leave their mark on this world." She smiled. He looked at her skeptically.

"So are you also a seer?"

"Hardly," she lied. "I've never uttered a prophecy in my life. However, I like to think I know a thing or two about Slytherins. You're cunning, highly motivated, and resourceful. Plus, you clearly have a sense of self-preservation, or you wouldn't be here right now." She placed her wand on the floor while she knelt to adjust the laces of her boots. Severus gazed down in awe at the entwined serpents that reminded him of a caduceus.

"They think we're all dark, you know? The other students."

"Everyone has a little dark in them, Severus. And even the darkest among us have a little light. They just have to remember it's there, and be willing to let it shine." She stood, picking up her wand and looked down at the boy. "There is none like you, Severus, and I'm sure that there never will be. Embrace those differences and turn them into strengths. I promise they will serve you well one day."

He regarded her for a moment, eyes locked on the wand in her hand, before he looked up at her and spoke again.

"I don't know how it's done where you went to school, Professor, but I believe that if you'd attended Hogwarts, you would be a Slytherin."

Épiphanie shrugged. "Hm. Maybe. I think they're pretty cool." She nodded and looked at her watch as the sound of the clock chime reverberated throughout the castle. "It's late. You don't want to be caught out after hours."

"When can we meet again?" he asked.

"Soon. I'll let you know. In the meantime, keep practicing, and remember—"

"This never happened," he replied. She gave him a wink and he left.

Severus felt buoyed by the lesson. He thought he might search the library for books on defense and dueling so that he might be more prepared next time. Professor Legendre appeared trustworthy, and she seemed to like him. She _had_ given Potter detention when his wand revealed he'd cast a jelly-legs jinx on him, and—most importantly—she didn't allow everyone to see that it was _he_ who had been jinxed. He wondered if he should show her the spell that he had been working on. It wasn't special, but it was useful. Maybe he would show it to her. Maybe.


	14. The Darkness Within

** _Épiphanie quotes William Henley's "invictus" and SunTzu_ _The Art of War_ _during her encounter in the Dark Forest._

* * *

Épiphanie lingered in the long room with its tall, arched windows of stained glass. She had chosen it for its secluded location and particular size. Also, she felt that the Room of Requirement was a secret that a student should uncover on one's own or with friends. Given what she had already learned of Snape's private and furtive nature, she didn't feel comfortable revealing the hidden room to him—especially since, as a new teacher who supposedly hadn't attended Hogwarts, she shouldn't know of its existence herself. She had no idea if Severus ever knew of its existence and feared such knowledge would definitely alter not only his life path, but that of many others as well.

When they'd begun their lesson, the early evening sun had still been in the sky, and a rainbow of colors danced along the floor and stretched across the hall. The space reminded her of a chapel and she wondered if that might have been its purpose at one time. Once the sun had set, the sconces along the length of the room had flared to life, their flickering lights making the jeweled panes shimmer. She moved gracefully over the smooth floor and executed a leap. Épiphanie wished that she'd known of this hall's existence when she was a student. She was certain, as she removed her long frock coat and began to perform a series of pirouettes, that she might have made good use of the space. She moved through a rond de jambe a terre, losing herself as she moved over the highly polished floor, when she was startled by the sound of clapping.

Épiphanie spun around to see Quirinus Quirrell standing beside the door at the far end of the hall. He applauded deliberately, a scowl upon his face.

"The Professor seems to have many a hidden…talent," he said as he stepped towards her.

"It's nothing," she shrugged as she summoned her robe and slipped it on. "How did you know to find me up here?"

"I was concerned for your welfare. When you weren't in your office, a student said they saw you headed in this direction."

"My welfare?" Épiphanie snorted. "What makes you think there was anything wrong?" She feigned ignorance and stepped around him and towards the door.

"You can't completely hide the bruises," he said, grabbing her wrist as she turned the latch, and pushed up her sleeve. "The way he _touched_ you!"

Épiphanie spun around and snatched her arm from his grip, eyes flashing. "While you sat there and _watched!_ That hardly sounds like concern to me."

"I—I only—"

She stepped towards him. "I could hear you, you know? He thought it was just the wind. I _knew_ you were there! Did you enjoy it—seeing me vulnerable and under the control of another?" she whispered. Quirrell's breath hitched as he stared into her accusing eyes. "Is that what you like? Did you imagine it was _you_ instead of Prewett?"

Épiphanie gave a startled gasp as he grabbed her arms, shoving her roughly against the door and pressing his lips against hers. Quirrell thrust himself against her, forcing his knee between her legs.

 _Crucio!_ The curse hurled the wizard backwards several feet before he landed, twisting in agony, the pain so intense that his scream died in his throat. Épiphanie's magic swelled until she heard the ping of delicate glass splintering all around her. She took several deep breaths to calm herself, not wanting to draw attention to the scene playing out in the space. Quirrell dragged himself to his knees, panting breathlessly and staring at her, his face a mixture of awe and fear.

"W-who are y-you? Are you one of-of th-them?"

Épiphanie stared down at him coldly. "I might ask you the same, Professor. Let not your mind and soul become so consumed with my life path that this castle observes the termination of your own ahead of its appointed time. _Reparo!_ " The spider web of fractures in the window panes disappeared with a series of resounding cracks as she strode from the hall. Quirrell stared after her for a moment before crumpling to the floor.

* * *

Draco raced up the stairs of the Astronomy Tower. Épiphanie had not put in an appearance at dinner and he was growing anxious. It had not escaped his notice that Quirinus Quirrell was also absent from the meal, but he could not decide whether he was relieved or even more anxious when he later crossed paths with the wizard, as he searched, and noted that the professor appeared decidedly pale and even more unnerved than usual.

Having escaped the meal without becoming sidetracked by Professor Slughorn, Draco had searched every conceivable place he thought that she might be. Everything appeared to be in order in the professor's quarters, except that his wife was missing. She wasn't in her office or the DADA classroom. He rushed to the seventh floor corridor and paced in front of the tapestry of the dancing trolls. His anxiety mounted when he found the secret chamber empty, and he set off once again.

When Draco reached the top of the tower, his stomach lurched. The night sky seemed to mock him as he stood alone, the breeze lifting his hair and fluttering the hem of his robes. In the distance, an impressive array of lightning flashed above the trees of the forest, reminding him of the distracting spell Épiphanie had cast to help them flee from the slave catchers. He searched the indigo sky for clouds while he absently rubbed his hand over the inside of his left forearm, wishing for the sensation of swimming in his head and knowing that as long as the Dark Lord was nearby, Draco would be disconnected in that way from his beloved.

"My immortal beloved, whatever you are doing, please be okay!" he murmured, breathing a sigh and sagged against the cool stone.

* * *

Épiphanie marveled at the rush of wind in her ears. It hadn't thrilled her so much since the first time she took flight on a broom, zooming over the quidditch pitch with Draco. She hadn't thought about what she was doing as she swept through the corridors of the castle and up to the top of the Astronomy Tower. Disgusted and vexed by what had taken place in the chapel-like hall on the seventh floor, Épiphanie never broke her stride as she crossed the battlement and stepped onto the crenel, flinging herself into the air.

She did not fall, but arced gracefully before climbing into the dark sky. The sensation was like surfing on a cloud as she glided through the air. She soared high above the grounds and marveled at the shimmering lake before descending into the darkness of the forbidden forest. She alighted gently at the edge of a moonlight-bathed clearing and uttered a soft gasp. A pair of unicorns grazed at the center of the clearing, the light of the moon illuminating their pure white coats such that they appeared to radiate their own brilliant light. Épiphanie stepped cautiously into the clearing, wishing that she had a camera.

"My god, you're so beautiful!" she murmured. The larger of the two beasts lifted its head as she approached. "May I touch you?" she asked. The unicorn dipped its head, as if in assent and moved towards her. As Épiphanie reached out to stroke its mane, the creature suddenly reared up, its golden hooves glinting in the moonlight. She leapt backwards as a jet of blue streaked between her and the unicorn, which turned and vanished into the trees with its mate, moving so swiftly that only the sound of retreating hoof beats in the darkness indicated they had been there at all.

Épiphanie whipped out her wand, pointing it in the direction from which the stunner had been cast, her senses on high alert. She hadn't considered that anyone else might have been in the woods. Her back prickled coldly and she gripped her wand more tightly.

"Okay, you've got my attention. Surely, you don't intend to hide like some pitiful milksop," she challenged as she carefully turned about, scanning the trees.

After a moment, the pale wizard emerged from the wood, hooded cloak obscuring most of his face. Épiphanie straightened her stance, but kept her wand hand extended.

"You didn't bring your courtesan?" she asked derisively. He smirked, drawing back his hood.

"Bellatrix is currently occupied with her connubial duties at the moment." He continued to advance upon her. Épiphanie stood her ground. "The Dark Forest seems a rather questionable choice for a lady to take a late night stroll unaccompanied."

"Does it?"

"Or am I interrupting a special rendezvous—perhaps with your… _muggle_ studies professor—or is it the young apprentice?" He arched a thin brow.

"If you know that then you are already aware that Professor Quirrell is somewhat incapacitated at the moment." She lifted her wand as his steps brought him within striking distance.

"Ah, but the lady is cautious!" He did not continue to advance upon her, but continued to move.

They circled about the clearing, their movements a dance in guarded counterpoint.

" _Experience has taught me that on open ground, I would do well to keep a vigilant eye on my defenses_."

"You are not a descendant of Salazar Slytherin, and yet you speak the ancient language as if born with the skill."

"Sir, for one esteemed as being so mighty, your sight tends not to reach far beyond your own family tree. The borders of the wizarding world do not begin and end at Europe's doorstep. Surely you are aware that there are others in our realm who are possessed of talents yet to be discovered by others."

"Ah, yes! But that is yet another incentive for you to join me."

"No."

"Are you really so brave, or simply stupid?" he scoffed.

"Neither, sir. I simply do not trust your tactical disposition. To secure against defeat lies in one's own hands, but the opportunity of defeating the enemy is provided by the enemy himself." She stopped moving and gave him a pointed look.

"We could be great together!" He exclaimed.

"Do you not know what has happened to those who have refused me?"

" _Out of the night that covers me, black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be for my unconquerable soul._ "

He gave her a curious look and his head swam, the images of an opened diary and an ancient diadem in his hand rushed to the fore of his thoughts. He glared at the witch who gave him a placid look, as only one other had ever dared to do.

Épiphanie did not miss the unguarded fear upon his face before he glared furiously and raised his wand. In the next instant, an arrow hissed through the air, piercing cleanly through the sleeve of his robe, and listing the aim and direction of his curse, before impaling a tree on the opposite side of the clearing.

 _Fulmen Factus!_ Épiphanie seized upon his distraction and launched herself into the air under the veil of lightning that blazed into the space, momentarily blinding him. She disillusioned herself, hovering amongst the high branches of a tall tree, and held her breath as she cleared her mind. The dark wizard angrily recovered himself, screaming an epithet as he flung a curse into the night and disapparated.

* * *

Épiphanie heaved a sigh of relief, scanning the area below to discover where the arrow had come from, when she heard hoof beats approaching. She slowly descended, hoping once again to see the amazing unicorns. As the hoof beats grew louder, she heard angry voices.

"That was a foolish stunt!" The man's voice was deep and angry.

"Should she have been left to slaughter?" The reply of the other was peaceful, and appeared to be attempting to reason with the first. Épiphanie tightened her grip on her wand and she hid herself behind a tree a few feet beyond the clearing.

She was amazed to see neither humans, nor unicorns enter the clearing, but a herd of centaurs. One of the largest among them, an imposing centaur with a coat of silver dapple and wild looking hair about his head and face, angrily pointed at another as he spoke.

"Why not? Better to dispatch any interlopers before they have the opportunity to attack. The filthy slavers!"

"Magorian, I hardly believe the human mare was any cause for concern. Firenze believed she was under threat. You know what the stars have predicted of that wizard!" Another centaur, with a coat of blood bay, a fiery red mane and long beard, tried to reason with him.

"Bah, Ronan! His affinity for the humans will endanger us all!" argued another large centaur.

"You agonize too much, Bane," replied the younger beast.

Bane stamped his hoof and snorted. "I _will not_ take his part when the herd casts him out!" He turned and galloped out of the clearing in the direction from which they'd come. The others followed, leaving the young centaur about whom they were arguing behind.

As their hoof beats faded into the distance, the lone young centaur looked into the trees.

"You may come out. There is no danger here," he said.

Épiphanie stepped out and gazed up at the centaur in awe. He was taller than a horse, with a golden palomino coat and a long white-blond mane that rippled down his back. His face, at first human in appearance, upon her closer inspection, bore distinct equine features—a broad flat nose with flared nostrils and large, wide-set eyes, which Épiphanie found to be astoundingly beautiful and astonishingly blue. His ears were pointed and set higher on his head than a human's, and when she ventured closer, she also noted a scattering of lavender-hued freckles across his cheeks and chest. He wore a quiver slung over his shoulder and held a flatbow with intricately carved decorations on its belly.

"You really didn't have to do that," she said. "But I appreciate the added distraction. I didn't mean to cause you trouble with your herd."

"The centaurs do not believe in obliging the needs of humans. I am Firenze." He gave her a bow.

"I'm honored, Firenze. I never thought that I would ever see a real centaur. I'm—"

"I know who you are."

Épiphanie took a step back, her mouth agape, but the young centaur's expression was calming. "The stars foretold of the dragon wizard and his mate—so named for divine insight—who would descend through the temporal veil."

"You know who I _really_ am?" she murmured. He nodded.

"Your presence here threatens the course of destiny. When your task is completed, you must not linger here. The dark one believes you to be a danger to him."

"But we haven't figured out how to align the time-turner, so that we can return home. Wait—task? We _are_ here to alter someone's life path? Who? Oh, God, not Voldemort?"

"He does not appreciate the insight provided by the cosmos, and therefore misinterprets the purpose of your manifestation."

"Well, that's good to know." Épiphanie rolled her eyes.

"I cannot tell you more. We centaurs prefer not to act upon the course of providence. However, it is clear that you are exceptionally gifted at discerning fate. You will know when your task is completed. As for your mate, advise him to seek his ancestor at whose wing he himself resides."

"Thank you, Firenze. Please express my sincere apologies and gratitude to your herd. I really have no ill will. In fact, I think you are amazing…beasts—and you're beautiful!" She smiled and gave him a bow.

"I am privileged, child of tomorrow. May you be ever fleet of foot and valiant of heart!"

Épiphanie ascended into the air until she hovered a few feet above him. Firenze reared up on his hind legs and smiled at her before galloping off into the trees. She leapt into the sky.


	15. Constellations

"Well, this certainly appears to be a very popular location, doesn't it?"

Draco jumped at the sound of Dumbledore's voice as he stepped off the staircase at the top of the tower.

"Oh, erm—good evening, Headmaster." Draco hastily slid the time-turner into the pocket of his robes.

"Mr. Prewett, pardon me for interrupting your stargazing." The Headmaster approached and took a peek through the telescope. "It is a perfect night for such study. The heavens open up and whisper the stories of the gods, give allusion to the mysteries of the future, and tempt us with fantasies of what lies far beyond the veil of the discernible sky."

"Yes, I suppose that it does. I've always found it quite picturesque. The House of Black has rather always had an affinity for the night sky." He looked up at the starlit firmament.

"Indeed! If I am correct, I seem to have been acquainted with Pollux, Orion, Cygnus—there were three of them, if I'm not mistaken—Arcturus, Cassiopeia, Regulus, Sirius—you know, there have been three of them too, as of this year—Andromeda, and of course, the lovely Bellatrix." Dumbledore turned the instrument in another direction as he rattled off the young wizard's family tree. "Ah, Draco! There you are!"

Draco jumped, and turned a startled gaze to the Headmaster.

"Wh-what did you say?" he whispered. The old wizard smiled and gestured to the telescope. Draco shook off his astonishment and looked through the eyepiece at the large constellation. "Oh, Dr-Draco, of course! A magnificent constellation, isn't it?"

"Indeed. Did you know that no matter the time of night, or night of year, Draco seems instantly recognizable?"

"I—erm—sir?" Draco turned his attention away from the telescope and nervously looked at Dumbledore once again. The headmaster was gazing up at the sky.

"It is circumpolar. No matter where one might find oneself, Draco will ultimately see the path home."

Draco struggled to school his features, stroking the red goatee on his chin, and hoping to appear thoughtful, but really ensuring that his glamour still held despite his shock. His breath hitched as the headmaster turned back to him. The old wizard was standing in the same spot that he would occupy more than twenty-five years later, offering the younger one redemption only moments before his own demise. Draco's mounting panic was such that he almost didn't realize that Dumbledore had begun to speak once more.

"Well, I believe this is where I take my leave, as I've no doubt that three is a crowd." He smiled. Draco gave him a quizzical look. "Mademoiselle Legendre, come to partake of another fine cigar, no doubt?" He moved towards the stairs.

Draco spun around to discover Épiphanie emerging from the shadows on the other side of the battlement, wearing a startled expression.

"Indeed, quite a popular destination," said Dumbledore, before descending out of sight.

"Merlin, Beloved! Where have you been? How did you—"

"I don't even understand how he knew I was there. I was disillusioned," She rushed to him.

"Disillusioned? Why? How long have you been—Ma Zirondelle, where have you _been?_ I searched for you everywhere! I was frantic!" Draco gripped her arms tightly. She winced, but did not pull away.

"I only just landed, I—"

" _Landed?_ Y-you were _flying?_ "

"Darling, you're hurting me." Épiphanie squirmed now. He gave her a shake.

"Good! If we were home, I'd punish you soundly for worrying me so!" he snapped. Épiphanie looked at him in surprise. Her cheeks flushed involuntarily and she shuddered. Draco gave her an exasperated look. "Oh, _honestly!_ I can't believe you're thinking of sex right now!" he hissed, releasing his grip. He turned away from her and wandered over to the wall, where he leaned against the merlon, staring blankly out into the darkness.

* * *

"I wasn't thinking. I hadn't intended to do anything so rash." Épiphanie moved to stand beside him.

"So, what—or who—upset you?" he asked, not looking at her. "You never behave in such a manner unless you've been distressed."

"Sit down, mon furet." She took his hand and turned him to face her.

Draco sat down, his back against the wall, and Épiphanie settled herself into his lap. He placed his hands on her hips and pulled her close. She angled her head to look into his eyes.

"Voldemort was in the Dark Forest," she said. Draco started. She placed a hand on his shoulder. "I didn't see him at first. I landed just outside of a clearing and saw a pair of unicorns. They were so beautiful and peaceful! I ventured closer and they seemed inclined to allow me to touch, but then he fired a curse and they ran off."

"Dragonfly, he could have—"

"I know, Dra—ah—mon furet, but he didn't, and I wasn't. Don't you trust my skills?"

"Of course I trust your skills. It's him I don't trust. You forget that I _knew_ him. He doesn't play fair, and when he strikes, it's usually bound to be lethal. Dumbledore and Harry are the only two who have ever beaten him."

"And I've beaten Harry," she retorted.

"In controlled circumstances."

Épiphanie scoffed. "Okay, fine! Need I recount the night before our wedding?"

"No, ma bien-aimee. You have nothing to prove," he replied, taking her hand and kissing her fingers. She stroked his arm.

"He tried to recruit me again. Unsurprisingly, he brought up the fact that I can speak parseltongue. I engaged him with points from _The Art of War_. You'd think he would know something of that."

"The Art of War?" Draco gave her a perplexed look.

"Seriously? It was written 168 years _before_ the Statute of Secrecy was passed. Surely it's on the shelves of the Malfoy library!" Draco just gave her a shrug. Épiphanie took his hand, lacing her fingers with his.

Draco was agitated. Every time Épiphanie shifted on his lap, his groin burned with longing. He was unaccustomed to not having his wife at his beckoned call nearly every hour of the day. The fleeting moments that they'd shared since falling through time weren't nearly enough, but he couldn't allow himself to become distracted right then.

"The other day, you started to tell me something about Quirrell, but the skirmish in the hall distracted you." Épiphanie squeezed his hand.

"What?"

"What happened to Quirrell? Is he still alive in our time?" she asked.

Draco closed his eyes, pulling a face and taking a breath before speaking.

"Harry is the only one alive who knows all of the details for sure, but no, Quirrell is dead."

"How is it that Harry knows what happened and you don't?"

"Rumour has it that Harry is the one who killed him." Épiphanie gave him a look of astonishment. "I told you that Quirrell was the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor our first year. He seemed to know a great deal about the subject, but his practical instruction was shit. No one respected him, and he was always a quivering mess. As it turns out, he was after an artefact—the Philosopher's Stone—which was hidden in the castle. The Dark Lord needed it to restore himself after he failed to kill Harry when he was infant and destroyed his human form.

Anyway, one night, I followed Harry and company out to Hagrid's hut, hoping to get them into trouble for being out of the castle—oh, don't look at me like that! I was eleven, and still pissed off that he didn't want to be my friend—then he went and ended up in Gryffindor and made friends with Weasley! Anyway, McGonagall gave us all detention with Hagrid, and he took us into the forest."

"I thought the forest was off limits to all students," Épiphanie said.

"Yeah, I fervently argued this point back then, but to no avail." He grimaced. She smirked. "As I was saying, we had detention with Hagrid. We were to help him find an injured unicorn. We split up—another reason I'm not terribly fond of the man—and Harry and I came upon a hooded figure taking the blood of a slain unicorn."

Draco shuddered and Épiphanie grimaced, but she gave his hand a squeeze, urging him to continue.

"When he saw us, he leapt up and came straight at us. I panicked and ran, but Potter tripped and fell. If it weren't for one of the centaurs, he might have been killed."

"A centaur?" She went still on his lap. He nodded.

"That's what Harry and Hagrid said. His name was Firenze—he taught Divination for a while during our fifth year. The colony had cast him out before the war because he consorted with humans."

"What does all this have to do with Quirrell?" Épiphanie asked.

"The Dark Lord had supposedly taken on Quirrell as a host to keep himself alive. Quirrell slaughtered two unicorns in order to take the blood for the Dark Lord to sustain his life without completely draining his own until they could locate the Stone. Somehow, Harry, Hermione and Ron worked out that someone was after the stone and where it was hidden. Harry confronted Quirrell and kept them from getting the Stone, but Quirrell was killed when he attacked Harry."

Épiphanie leaned into Draco, resting her head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her. She reached up and fingered his hair. As she stroked it, the auburn hue lightened to his original pale white-blond.

"Firenze—a mane of white-blond hair?" she asked.

"Yes. You don't mean to say that you've seen him?"

"This evening—and apparently, I've altered his life path. The herd is quite pissed at him for intervening between me and Voldemort."

"What do you mean, _intervening?"_ Draco narrowed his eyes at Épiphanie, his fingers tightening at her hips.

"Well, I think I may have driven him a little too far this time. I broke through his defenses again, and saw into his memories. These um—what are they—horcruxes—that he made…is it really possible to make more than one?"

Draco violently recoiled from Épiphanie at her statement, shuddering vehemently, a look of utter horror on his face. He pressed himself against the wall as if he could pass through it like the barrier on platform 9¾.

"No! He can't have! He—would—he could—" Draco gasped for air, clutching at his collar to loosen it. Épiphanie grabbed his hands and looked deeply into his eyes.

"Draco, no. He can't come back. He is dead. You were there!" she reminded him.

"But—" Draco gulped. Épiphanie took his arm, gripping his wrist tightly and pushed back his sleeve.

"Look!" She insisted. He averted his eyes and tried to pull away. She gripped it tighter. " _Look!_ You are under Ma Mère's protection now, not his dominion. It's over! It's over." She repeated the mantra until his breathing slowed. Draco held her tightly.

"How?"

"I don't know. They must have been destroyed _somehow_ or he never could have been defeated. As of right now, I think he had created five of them. I wonder how many he managed to make?" she mused.

"Beloved, please! It's too much! I never knew—speak of it no more! What else happened?"

"Well, he didn't seem angry that I refused him at first. He treated it rather like it was a game. As if all he would have to do is bide his time and eventually I would give in. When I saw those horcruxes, everything changed. Now, I think he's frustrated and maybe a little afraid that I might be more powerful than he suspected and possibly in league with Dumbledore. He's concerned about the fact that I know he's creating the horcruxes. Does he always act so rashly?" Épiphanie asked.

"Yes. He's very reactionary. I think that led to his ultimate downfall. He relied on fear and manipulation in order to maintain power and control."

"He's so easily frustrated, like a little baby," she giggled, and then her face turned sober. "Firenze knew who I was. He said that the stars foretold our arrival and that we have a task to complete before we can leave this era."

Draco's eyes widened. "Do you think it's the Dark Lord?" he asked.

"That was my initial thought, but no. If we alter his life path, we could destroy our own futures. I think it's someone else."

"A student, maybe?" Draco suggested.

"Well, Severus came to see me the other day," Épiphanie said.

"He did? Why?"

"He asked me if I would teach him wandless magic."

"What?"

"Well, he's being bullied, ma bébé. You know that. Harry's dad is awful—he's kind of like—well… _you._ "

" _Me?_ "

"You said yourself that you were really cruel to Harry and Ron. From what I can see, James is shaping up to be quite the same towards Severus."

"I suppose you're right. It would explain why he resented Harry from day one as well. However, I never knew Severus to perform any wandless magic. He was quite a formidable duelist—even taught me a thing or two."

"I told him that I couldn't teach him wandless magic. I wouldn't know how to do it, honestly. Ma Mère simply taught me the spells without regard to the fact that I might one day take a wand. Up until I met you, I had no idea that such ability was considered exceptional."

"The way you cast spells without your wand is curious. I don't think I've ever seen you do it the same way often. Sometimes you cast a shield with a wave of your hand, but other times, you barely deign to move at all." Draco lowered his voice. "I don't recall Dumbledore being so casual about his wandless magic. There was always some hand movement involved. We never saw him cast particularly complex spells without a wand, and—" His voice was barely a whisper now. "The Dark Lord—I never saw him cast a spell without a wand! My darling, did he—has he ever seen you perform wandlessly?" Draco asked, his eyes nervous.

"No. Well, I opened a door, but that could hardly be considered particularly special, could it? Anyone of age ought to be able to attempt as much."

"I suppose so," Draco shrugged. "He never was one for paying close attention to the mundane. Let us hope that it has escaped his notice." He was thoughtful for a moment, drawing circles on her thigh with his hand before looking up into her eyes. "You still haven't said what made you so upset that you fled the castle."

"Do you think Quirrell has already gone dark?" she asked him.

"Épi—" she placed a finger to his lips.

" _Philomène_." She emphasized. Draco narrowed his eyes. "Do you think he has already gone dark?"

"I—why do you ask?"

"You ever hear him _not_ stutter or quiver?" Épiphanie gave him a pointed look.

"You don't mean—it's all an _act?_ " his voice held a note of astonishment.

"Well, he doesn't appear to have been imperioused, but on more than one occasion, his demeanor has been as smooth as silk. Voldemort knew that I'd had tea with him yesterday, and interestingly enough, he also knows that there is something between Philomène and Lucas. Now, either Quirrell is putting on a damned good act, and feeding Voldemort information, or Das Dunkle has gotten into his head. Quirrell and I had a little set-to shortly after Severus and I completed our dueling practice, where he all but admitted that he's been following me, and he's _very_ jealous of you."

Draco's expression turned dark and he made to remove her from his lap so that he could stand. Épiphanie resisted.

"Now, now, Mr. Prewett. Surely you can appreciate that the young Defense instructor is _more_ than capable of handling herself against the Muggle Studies teacher. I can assure you that he will survive until the day of his appointed rendezvous with Harry—at least he didn't die by _my_ hand." She smirked at her husband. "Still, let this be a warning to watch your back. What is it Harry and my dad say? 'Constant vigilance!'"

"C'mon, get up." Draco pushed Épiphanie firmly from his lap and stood. "Disillusion yourself."

"What for?" she asked.

"Because you're coming back to the Slytherin dungeons with me."

* * *

The common room was empty, save for one student, who was sound asleep with his face in a textbook, a bit of drool puddling on the page serving as his pillow. They quickly crossed the room into the corridor that led to the boys' dormitories. Épiphanie followed him to a door at the end that was elevated by a few steps. Draco waved his wand and the door swung open. He stood back and waited. The air in front of him rippled and her robe brushed lightly against him as she passed into the room. He closed the door firmly, casting privacy and locking spells. Épiphanie dropped the disillusionment and looked around the space as he lit the sconces around the room.

There was a desk to one side of the room and a comfortable-looking chair was arranged before the hearth. Night tables sat on either side of the narrow bed, which was predictably draped in Slytherin green. She presumed that a door opposite the one through which they'd entered led to the bath.

"Wow, Professor Legendre certainly has much nicer accommodations," she mused.

"Clearly, one's job title carries certain privileges. This is little more than a private dormitory," Draco replied derisively. He waved his wand and enlarged the bed before turning to her. His gaze had an edge to it and Épiphanie instinctively stepped back, lowering her gaze to the floor. "Look at me."

Épiphanie raised her eyes to her husband.

Draco dropped his glamour, running a hand over his smooth chin. Épiphanie shook her head, losing her own glamour.

"Take off your clothes." Épiphanie raised her wand. "No magic. Do it yourself—slowly. I want to watch." He leaned against the desk.

Épiphanie deliberately undid each button, zipper and lace as she removed the layers of clothing she wore, until she stood before him completely bare. His lips curled into an approving smile. He conjured a rope and moved to stand behind her, pulling her arms back.

Draco slipped a loop over each wrist and up her arms to her shoulders, drawing them back. He proceeded to make a series of loops and knots, sliding each up her arms and cinching them to pull her arms together.

"No magic?" she asked, a hint of surprise in her voice.

"I want to experience the feel of the rope sliding through my fingers as your limbs resist." His tone was cool as he methodically bound her arms together. "This binding I learned from Neville. However, I used to sail with Blaise during the holiday months. We did everything by hand. Magic is useful for many things, but one doesn't want to risk a poorly aimed spell on open water at forty knots."

"Well, isn't my husband full of secrets! Who would have thought you or the ever arrogant Zabini to actually indulge in a muggle passion!" she giggled. Draco gave the last loop a hard tug.

"I confess. I did enjoy it. I begged Lucius for a yacht of my own, but he wouldn't hear of it. The idea of engaging in muggle sport was absolutely abhorrent. I wasn't even able to win Mother over to my side. She was appalled by the sunburn that I always seemed to return home with." He cinched the last knot at her wrists, and kissed her neck. "Nonetheless, my skills shall not go completely to waste. You _do_ look absolutely divine in this dragonfly sleeve, my love."

He pulled at the ropes, lifting her arms behind her. Épiphanie was forced to lean forward as he pulled higher, until she was bent completely at the waist, her nose at her knees. He nudged her feet apart and she peered up at him between her legs. Draco waved his wand, and a chain with a ring at the end appeared, hanging from the ceiling. He secured the rope to it and stood back.

"Ah, by Morganna! I wish you could see yourself, my darling! I've missed you so. I've missed _this._ So pliant and perfect, and all mine!" He trailed his fingers lightly over her ass. She shivered instinctively. "Admit it. You've missed me. You've missed being totally at my whim." Draco whispered, lightly raking his nails over her back. Épiphanie let out a long, slow hiss.

He backed away from her again. "You wanted this. It's why you've been so reckless since we've been here. You needed me to remind you that we are still _us._ " Draco conjured a cane.

"Lucas Prewett and Philomène Legendre are not here tonight." He dragged the tip of the cane up the inside of one leg and lightly tapped her snatch before he slowly teased it down the inside of the other leg. She whimpered. "Tonight, there is only Draco and Épiphanie."

He tapped her exposed pussy again. She wriggled a bit. The binding prevented Épiphanie from standing upright or moving forward, and even the slightest movement or bending of her knees forced her arms higher. Draco stepped out of her line of sight and she tingled with anticipation.

"You have taken risks and been reckless, Ma Zirondelle—consorting with dark wizards and tempting fate—that cannot go unpunished." His voice was cool and measured, reminding her of their encounters with Neville.

Suddenly, her flesh burned with the sting of the cane making contact. She let out a shriek.

" _Silencio!_ We wouldn't want to alarm the students now, would we?"

Another lash burned the skin on the back of her thighs, and a silent curse fell from her lips, but was only heard in her mind. Draco continued to mark Épiphanie's flesh as she soundlessly thrashed about. Her shoulders burned as her ass and legs stung, and tears fell from her eyes. Finally, he dropped the cane to the floor with a clatter and removed the silencing charm. She panted breathlessly.

"Ohhhh, god! Ohhh, fuck!" she moaned. Épiphanie trembled uncontrollably as his cool fingers moved over the welts that covered her backside.

"By the gods, you are so lovely, my immortal beloved!" He gripped her waist, grinding his hips against hers, his erection pressing against the crotch of his trousers. The friction of fabric against her abused skin was delicious torture for Épiphanie. She clenched her buttocks. Draco backed away again. She growled in frustration, watching as he freed his throbbing member, taking it in hand. He summoned the chair from the desk and slouched into it, stroking his erection as he stared at her beneath heavy eyelids and pulled his lips into his characteristic smirk. "As much as it pains me to withstand the lure of the lady's flower, my dearest, I believe a loss of privileges is in order as well. I shall have to content myself to relieve my desires in hand as I watch you longing for it."

Draco gripped himself tighter, licking his lips as he watched Épiphanie whimper in vexation, her legs trembling. He stroked faster, locking his gaze on hers, and licked his lips as his breathing picked up. He rocked his hips forward when her lips parted ever so slightly and a thrill shot through him.

"Fuck!" he cursed. She played dirty pool, but he didn't care. The sensation was absolutely mind-numbing. Draco cursed again and panted, bucking his hips and throwing his head back as he closed his eyes.

"Merlin, yes! Fuck, yes! Yes!" The chair tipped back on two legs. "Oh, fuck! Shit! Fuck!" Draco let out a guttural moan as he climaxed, spilling hot and sticky over his hand. The chair landed with an angry thump. He released Épiphanie, carrying her to the shower where he gently bathed her before drawing her into bed for a brief slumber as the early morning sky began to lighten.


	16. Flight of Death

_**Épiphanie quotes William Henley's_ Invictus, _and Dr. Martin Luther King._

* * *

It seemed that they'd barely closed their eyes before the distant chiming of the clock alerted the couple that breakfast would soon be over and it would be time for class. They dragged themselves from the bed and dressed hastily.

"You'd better floo to your quarters. The common room is probably busy with students now," Draco said.

"Yeah," Épiphanie agreed, reaching for the floo powder. "It'd be just our luck to run into Lucius or Narcissa."

"Oh, perish the thought!" Draco crossed to her as he buttoned his shirt, and planted a kiss on her lips. "See you soon, my immortal beloved."

"Don't forget your glamour," his wife winked at him and tossed the floo powder into the hearth, stepping into the flames and calling out her destination.

When she disappeared, Draco quickly finished dressing and checked his glamour before grabbing his things and stepping out of his room.

"Running a bit tardy aren't we, Mr. Prewett? Late night?" Lucius drawled as Draco strode across the common room.

"How observant, Mr. Malfoy. I should hope that your own tardiness isn't due to a late night with Miss Black. I assure you that any aspersion of her virtue will _not_ go unpunished." Draco gave him a pointed look before sweeping out of the room.

* * *

Épiphanie hurriedly threw on some clean clothes, pulling her hair into a haphazard ponytail and grabbed her notes before gliding down the stairs and into the Defense classroom. An audible gasp rang out through the room as she approached her desk. The Ravenclaws murmured to one another, while the vast majority of the Slytherin students stared at her, agog.

"Forget something, Professor?" Silas Parkinson asked with a smirk. A few of the Slytherins snickered. Épiphanie looked down at her clothes.

"No, I don't think that I have, Mr. Parkinson." She looked back at him calmly.

"But, Mademoiselle, you are wearing _muggle_ clothing!" exclaimed Alecto Carrow, turning up her nose as if she smelled a foul odor.

"Figures she would be a muggleborn," sneered Evan Rosier.

"And you would _figure_ incorrectly, Mr. Rosier. I am _not_ muggleborn. My father is a pureblood, and despite my mother's blood-status, my maternal ancestors were indeed magical." Épiphanie replied. "Now, as to our lesson—yes, I _am_ wearing muggle clothing." She indicated the oversized Grambling State University sweatshirt she wore with blue jeans and tennis shoes.

In truth, Épiphanie, in her haste to get to class on time, had not paid attention to the clothing that she'd donned. However, she seized upon the mistake as a teaching moment and decided to roll with it. "Defense isn't merely about being able to identify dangerous creatures and performing skillful wand work in battle. One never knows when a clever disguise is necessary. Muggleborn students and some half-bloods have the advantage in that respect. They are able to step out of the magical world and hide in plain sight. Can you say the same?"

"Why would I want to _leave_ the magical world?" Lucius scoffed.

"Is our world always the safest place to be, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Of course it is! We are protected from the likes of _them!_ "

"But don't you have the advantage of using magic if threatened by muggles?' she asked.

"Well, I—"

"Let me help you with that, sir. The answer is 'yes'. One can always apparate away from an undesirable situation, and the ability to nonverbally cast some minor protection spells in exigent circumstances is generally useful. As to why you might leave the magical world, even for a brief time, the answer should be as plain as the nose on your face. Portkeys malfunction. One misjudges the apparition point. Maybe one finds him or herself on the _wrong_ side of the law. Perhaps the most critical reason is that _not_ every witch or wizard that one might encounter is a friend." She paused to let her words sink in. "While the Statute of Secrecy warns against the use of magic in the presence of muggles, it recognizes that contact with non-magical persons _does_ exist for any number of reasons. The Statute clearly states that, and I quote: 'when mingling with muggles, wizards and witches will adopt an entirely muggle standard of dress, which will conform as closely as possible to the fashion of the day.'"

"As if a Malfoy would _ever_ wish to mingle with _muggles,_ " Lucius muttered disdainfully.

"If I'm not mistaken, in my limited understanding of the history of magic in Great Britain, weren't the Malfoys closely connected with such high-born muggles as William the Conqueror and Queen Elizabeth I? In fact, _My Lord_ ," she gave him a pointed look. "Your ancestors initially _opposed_ the Statute vehemently, due to the potential loss of social connections associated with it."

By dinner, the castle was abuzz with talk of the DADA professor's unconventional lesson. Again, Lucius scowled up at Épiphanie as she took her seat beside Draco, at the staff table.

"He's glowering at you again," Draco noted. "What did you do this time?"

"Something to do with the Malfoys' initial resistance to the Statute of Secrecy, I think." She shrugged. Draco let out a long-suffering sigh. "What? Can I help it if your father is so arrogant that he just keeps opening doors to allow himself to be embarrassed?"

"No doubt Dumbledore will receive a strongly-worded letter from Abraxas any day now, demanding that you be sacked. Possibly even this evening." He tucked into his meal.

"Well, you're the one who said no one ever lasted more than a year in this position. Maybe it's providence." She took a sip of her juice.

"Did you _really_ wear muggle clothing to class, Professor?" asked Minerva McGonagall, as she took a seat on Épiphanie's other side. How ingenious! All of the students have been talking about it. Do you have much first-hand knowledge of the muggle world in the United States?"

"Oh, well. I have some. The magical community in Louisiana is much different than around the rest of the country. There has always been quite a bit of comingling, even under Rappaport's Law."

"Fascinating!" the Transfiguration teacher exclaimed. "Don't you think, Quirinus?"

"Oh-oh y-yes! F-fascinating," the Muggle Studies professor stuttered flatly. "If-if you will excuse m-me. I s-suddenly remembered th-that I—" He hurriedly left the table.

" _Muggle_ clothing?" Draco gave her a look, eyeing the aubergine-colored robes, trimmed in an embroidered design of Japanese wisteria, which she currently wore over a crème-colored chemise.

"I thought I might shake things up a bit. Our Defense professor at Ilvermorny did that quite a lot. He thought that one should always prepare for the unexpected."

"I see." Draco stroked his goatee, thoughtfully. "Miss Legendre. I was wondering if perhaps you might honor me with a casual stroll this evening. It is quite nice out, and I'd like to know a bit more about wizarding life in America. I've read about this Rappaport's Law. It seems most intriguing. I can't imagine why it would have been repealed. Clearly keeping the magical and non-magical communities completely separate has many benefits."

"Well, I don't know about that, Mr. Prewett. I'd be happy to discuss its merits and drawbacks with you. Perhaps it would shed some light upon the current discord that seems to be creeping into Britain's magical world. Say nine o'clock?" she suggested, taking his hint.

"Brilliant! I shall look forward to it."

* * *

"Professor!" Severus jogged to catch up with Épiphanie as she mounted the Marble staircase after dinner. She paused and turned to him.

"Hi, Severus. How's it going?" she asked with a smile.

"Erm, I am well, thank you. Do you have a moment? There is something I would like to show you, erm—if you don't mind." His eyes betrayed his nervousness, but there was a flicker of excitement in them as well.

"Yeah, sure. Shall we head to my office?" she suggested?

"Actually, I think the library would be better."

"Alright then, lead the way."

Épiphanie followed him to the library, where they found a table just beyond a bookshelf that separated them from a large group of Ravenclaw students. She looked at him expectantly, and he handed her a slip of parchment. She opened the paper and read his neat script.

"Muffliato." Épiphanie now gave him a curious look. She knew the charm. She'd first learned of it when she came to Hogwarts. Draco used it after their first Hogsmeade trip, when he'd first professed his love for her. She had used it many times since.

"It-it's a charm," said Severus.

"I see." She feigned ignorance. Had Severus invented this spell? "What does it do?"

"You can use it for privacy. People nearby aren't able to make out what you are saying. All they hear is a dull buzzing."

"Interesting. Useful too, I suppose. Have you tried it out?"

"I don't know yet if it works. I figured here would be a good place to test it out?"

"Well, let's do it then!" she exclaimed. "Show me."

Severus pointed his wand and said the incantation. " _Muffliato._ I'm not sure how to tell whether it has worked." His face was etched with worry. Épiphanie smiled at him and gave him a wink.

"My grandma and your grandma sittin' by the fayuh! My grandma tol' your grandma, I'm gonna set yo' flag on fayuh! Talkin' 'bout hey nah! Hey nah! Iko Iko unday. Jock-a-mo fee-no ai na-né, jock-a-mo fee na-né!" She sang out loudly, startling the eleven-year-old Slytherin. Épiphanie let out a belly laugh. "It's a popular song where I'm from. But look!" she slid a few books from the shelf beside them. The students on the other side were still engrossed in their study. "Doesn't look like they noticed a thing! Congratulations, Mr. Snape! You, sir, have created a most useful charm!"

Severus gave her a broad and genuine smile.

* * *

Draco stepped out of the floo, into Épiphanie's quarters just as she entered the room.

"You didn't tell me that Snape invented the Muffliato charm," she said.

"Really? He taught it to me, but I didn't know that the spell was his own invention," Draco replied.

"He just had me help him to test it out, down in the library."

"Brilliant!"

"I think that might well be the boost of confidence that he needs. He actually _smiled!"_

"So, Professor Legendre, fancy a stroll down to the Three Broomsticks for a drink?"

"Ooh! Why Mr. Prewett, are you not worried about what the Slytherins will think of their Potions Apprentice consorting with the American blood-traitor? What would your _cousin_ think?" she grinned mischievously. He returned her smile with his trademark smirk. "Well, alright then. Give me a minute to change."

She withdrew into the bath, and Draco waved his wand, summoning her belongings into their rucksack, which he stowed in an expanded pocket within his robes. She emerged a few minutes later with her hair braided neatly down her back and wearing a simple grey sheath, which skimmed her lithe figure, and featured draping Hanfu sleeves. Draco gave her an approving smile as he helped her into her cloak.

They set off across the castle grounds, unaware that they were being observed. The wizard smiled serenely to himself, holding the angry letter in one hand. As he predicted, everything would sort itself out.

Draco felt Épiphanie's grip on his arm tighten ever so slightly as they passed through the castle gate and continued along the path that led to the high street in Hogsmeade. He felt the thrum of her mounting magic, and knew that her senses were on high alert. His eyes also scanned the street as they walked. The avenue was not crowded, as most of the village's inhabitants had returned home for the evening, and only the pubs remained open. The Three Broomsticks was bustling, but not crowded as they entered and requested a table near the back of the room. They sat close together, with their backs to the wall, and kept the hoods of their cloaks partially raised.

"We have _got_ to get out of this place and get home," Épiphanie declared in a hushed voice. "I'm worried about the girls. Do you think anyone has figured out what happened?"

Draco sighed and stared down into his mead. "I don't know. If they _are_ looking for us, they're probably searching New Orleans in 2003, not Hogsmeade in 1971."

"What about Philoméne and Lucas? When we leave—if we ever leave—what becomes of them? The term has barely begun!" Épiphanie tossed back the last dregs of her wine.

"That may well work in our favor," Draco replied. "If Professor Dumbledore receives a communication from Grandfather, it will only be a matter of time before the Board of Governors begins to put pressure on him to ask for Professor Legendre's resignation."

"Dumbledore doesn't strike me as the type to bend to that type of pressure."

"You are correct. But people are beginning to notice that the professor and the apprentice appear to be close. The Prewetts are already tainted by Molly's marriage to Arthur. I understand that Fabian and Gideon, her brothers, also took up the resistance against You-Know-Who. So, it wouldn't be a stretch to believe that Lucas fell for Philomène and the two ran off together," Draco suggested.

"I dunno. I guess it might work. Wait—is _that_ why Lucas so publicly invited Philoméne out for drinks tonight?" She arched her brow.

"Perhaps," he replied. "Perhaps I simply wanted some uninterrupted time with my wife." Draco lifted her hand to his lips.

"Well, this little _charade_ will be worthless unless you are any closer to determining how to set the time-turner," she retorted, then gasped.

"What is it?" Draco looked at her in alarm.

"I completely forgot! Firenze said something about it!" she closed her eyes. "What was it? Oh! He told me to tell you to seek your ancestor at whose wing you, yourself reside. Does that make any sense?"

"Seek my ancestor at whose wing...that—oh Merlin's cauldron! It's Cygnus!"

"Cygnus?"

"The swan! The constellation Draco is adjacent to Cygnus." He slapped his forehead. "Now, it all makes sense!"

"What does?" Épiphanie asked.

"Ah, Dumbledore! I told you the old fool was clever!"

"How so?"

"Well, the other night on the tower, just before you arrived, he came upon me stargazing, and began to talk about Draco. I was startled for a moment, because I could have sworn he meant _me."_

"What did he say?" Épiphanie asked.

"Well, _first_ he said 'there you are, Draco!'"

"Oh, _unh-unh!_ No wonder you freaked out."

"Then, I realized, he was talking about the constellation. He mentioned the members of the family who are named after constellations. He pointed out that Draco is circumpolar. It's always visible, and I quote—Draco will ultimately see the path home."

"But what does that have to do with Cygnus?"

"Well, that's just it. I don't believe it has anything to do with Cygnus at all. In hindsight, I think he really _was_ talking directly to me—letting me know that I was on the right path."

"You think this will get us home?"

"There's only one way to find out." Draco finished his mead and tossed a few coins on the table.

* * *

They'd only taken a few steps up the street before Épiphanie shoved Draco to the ground and dove in the opposite direction, narrowly avoiding the curse that streaked through the night. Draco rolled and whipped out his wand, casting a shield. He pushed back the hood of his cloak to see Bellatrix advancing upon them, her wand drawn.

"Bellatrix!" he exclaimed.

"Cousin?" she paused, her wand trained on them still, as Draco got to his feet. "Narcissa's letter home mentioned that you're apprenticing Slughorn. I must say, you are looking quite fit these days. However, consorting with a yankee blood-traitor? _Lucas!_ "

"Bellatrix, stand down!" Draco demanded.

"Jealous?" Épiphanie taunted.

Bellatrix spun around and flung a Cruciatus curse at her. Épiphanie easily evaded it.

"Where is your Sir?" she asked. "Surely Voldemort knows me well enough not to send you after me alone."

"How _dare_ you speak the name of the Dark Lord!" She spat, flinging another curse which flashed against Épiphanie's shield.

"Does your husband know the true nature of your relationship?"

Bellatrix fired a killing curse which blasted through the image of the other witch, who had already apparated out of danger.

 _Expulso!_

The blast threw Bellatrix several yards, and she landed unconscious against the door of Honeydukes Candy Shoppe. Draco and Épiphanie began to sprint up the high street. As the castle gates came into view, a number of hooded figures apparated in front of them, wands drawn.

"Shit!" Draco exclaimed, grabbing Épiphanie's hand. They apparated into a dark alley behind the post office and caught their breath as they crouched, listening for the Death Eaters making their way up the street.

"They can't apparate onto the castle grounds. They're hiding somewhere! Split up!" One of the men commanded. "We'll watch the gate!"

"Come out, come out wherever you are!" another sang.

Draco tugged Épiphanie's hand and pointed to a narrow passage behind the row of shops. They crept along as quickly and stealthily as they could, carefully peering around each corner.

" _Confringo!_ " an orange, fire-like light streaked between the two buildings, and Draco yanked Épiphanie backwards as he pointed his wand around a corner and stunned the advancing wizard.

They began to run again, picking off the wizards with stunners one by one until they reached Hogsmeade Station, where they apparated to the far side of the tracks and began to run into the woods at the edge of the village. Épiphanie's cloak snagged on a branch of a fallen tree, and she wrestled to free herself.

"Dammit, man, fuck this! _Diffindo!_ " The fabric rent cleanly, and they turned to flee, only to find themselves at the edge of a bluff overlooking the lake after running only a few dozen yards.

"Well, well! What have we here? Star-crossed lovers fleeing in the dead of night?" Voldemort stepped out of the trees with a sneer.

Épiphanie could feel Draco shaking in terror beside her, his hand sweaty in her grip. She squeezed it to reassure him.

"You must be desperately in love to attack your own family in _her_ defense," he said. "Of course, Bella did say there were a few bad apples on the tree. All the more reason for careful…pruning."

 _Don't draw your wand, mon cher. Just trust me._

Voldemort raised his wand, and she stepped between him and Draco, crossing her arms defiantly.

"What are you doing?" Draco hissed.

"Shh! If we fall, we fall _together!_ " she whispered back. She lifted her chin and stared at Voldemort. "What do you even want with me? You said that we could be great together. I'm not even a pureblood—unless, of course, maybe that doesn't matter as much as you claim, seeing as my blood is about as pure as yours, maybe even more so. After all, _my_ muggle mother has _pureblood_ ancestors. Be honest. You have no intention of sharing power with anyone. You lust after it too much. Unlike Madame Lestrange, I would never kneel to someone so unworthy."

Voldemort let out a laugh filled with incredulity. "Perhaps I was mistaken, my good man." He sneered at Draco. "I applaud your cunning. Such is the Noble and Ancient House of Black. If there is someone else willing to take the fall, _let them!_ " He turned his attention back to Épiphanie. "Foolish girl! You would sacrifice your life for his?"

" _No one really knows why they are alive until they know what they'd die for_ ," she hissed. "The same man who said those words, also said that one who won't die for something is not _fit_ to live! What would _you_ die for, Tom Riddle?"

Draco gasped behind her. His wand hand twitched, but she pushed it back. Voldemort glared at her, his face a mask of fury. Épiphanie gently nudged her husband backwards until they heard loose rock falling behind them. She cast a lightning spell.

 _When I push you, grab my waist tightly._

Voldemort laughed again, but there was a hint of nervousness in his gaze. The young, defiant witch faced him, her magical aura manifested itself in the veil of blinding white light splitting the darkness around them. She spread her empty hands wide.

"Ah, the martyr! How touching!" he teased with a contemptuous sneer. She stared him down, unflinching.

"It matters not how strait the gate, how charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate: _I_ am the captain of my soul!"

" _Avada"_

Épiphanie threw her weight against Draco, and he wrapped his arms around her waist.

" _Kedavra!"_

The young witch and wizard disintegrated into dust before the Dark Lord. He stared, mouth agape, having never seen such a result from the killing curse. After a second or two, he ventured forward and looked over the edge of the cliff, where he was only mildly surprised to see the two young lovers lying in a heap on the rocks at the edge of the water below.

"Lie down! Lie down! Be still!" Épiphanie commanded in a whisper when they landed at the bottom of the cliff. "He might look over the edge!"

Draco dropped to the ground and his wife lay across his chest. The damp, jagged rocks dug into his back, and he willed himself not to blink as he stared up at the cliff's edge. He was amazed at her quick thinking, casting the shadow of their images and pushing them over the side of the cliff. She really could fly! A few pebbles rained down from above before Voldemort's pale face appeared over the edge of the bluff. His laughter could be heard in the darkness as he pointed his wand to the sky.

" _Morsmordre!"_

 _Shh! Shh! Just try to stay calm. It only means he believes we're dead. You're okay. You're okay._

Draco focused on the slight pressure of Épiphanie's fingers against his arm as the Dark Mark appeared in the sky above them.

They continued to lie still for several more minutes to ensure that they were safe before scrambling into a small cove created by an outcropping of rock in the cliffside. Draco pulled the rucksack from his robes and summoned the time-turner.

"You—" Épiphanie began, as she discarded the torn cloak.

"I packed everything while you were changing. I wasn't certain I had gotten it entirely right, but I thought it was worth a try. Then you told me what Firenze said, and it all made sense," he explained. "I hope that _thing_ in the sky won't interfere with it!" He draped the long golden chain around their necks and lined up the stars. Once again, world spun around them like a video on fast-forward.


	17. Home

Épiphanie opened her eyes and squinted into the mid-morning sun. Draco clutched her hand tightly as they both looked around nervously. The fountain gurgled gently on the other side of the hedge, and the stately mansion loomed ahead of them.

"Did we do it? Oh please say we're really home!" she murmured hopefully. Draco hastily fumbled through the pockets of his robes and drew out his watch, opening the back cover. "What does it say?" She held her breath, worrying her lip.

"September 1, 2003!" Draco declared, breathlessly. He pulled his wife into a crushing embrace as they both withered with relief. "We're home!"

"Oh, thank God!" Épiphanie exclaimed. The couple ran into the house hand-in-hand.

Draco dropped the rucksack and turned slowly, gazing around the drawing room as if for the first time. Épiphanie exhaled in wonder.

"I don't think they knew anything had happened at all!"

"It's as if all those days were compressed into the little time that we were expected to be gone!" Draco said, examining his shirt sleeve. Somewhere along the way, he'd lost a cufflink and the brooch that fastened his cloak. "My gods we look _awful!_ " He indicated Épiphanie's frock, with its mud stained hem and her bedraggled hair, which stuck out of her braid in places, and her smudged face.

"Mummy! Daddy! Did you miss us!" Grace and Artemis exclaimed, pulling free of Ginny's hands as they stepped out of the fireplace. Harry and Teddy followed a second later. The children and Harry sported golden tans, while Ginny's fair skin was lightly tinged with pink. Harry and Épiphanie scooped up their daughters in tight hugs, raining kisses all over them.

"Oh, goodness! We've missed you sooo much!" Épiphanie exclaimed.

"Did you have fun?" Draco asked.

"Oh yes! We swam in the pool, and went horseback riding!" Grace exclaimed.

"And we won an award!" Artemis added.

"An award? For what?"

"We had the _best_ sandcastle on the beach!" Grace replied.

"We made Hogwarts!" Teddy interjected. "Harry helped."

"Wow! I can't wait to look at all of your pictures and hear more about it," said Épiphanie. "Why don't you all go up to the nursery and play? Diggy will bring you a snack."

The children dashed from the room, their excited chatters fading as they mounted the stairs. Draco and Épiphanie turned to face Harry and Ginny, who stood like stern parents, eyeing them suspiciously.

"And why do _you_ guys look like you've flown through a cyclone?" Ginny inquired.

"Is that _dirt_ in your hair, Malfoy?" asked Harry, with a smirk.

"I never thought I'd live to see the day that Draco Malfoy would allow someone to see him looking disheveled." Ginny declared.

"It's a long story," said Épiphanie. "Have you had lunch?"

"They're deflecting," Ginny raised a brow towards Harry.

"Clearly," he replied.

"Could we at _least_ get cleaned up?" Draco frowned.

"This must _really_ be good," said Harry. He nudged his wife.

"I think I could be persuaded to wait, especially if there's lunch involved," she smirked. Draco and Épiphanie looked at one another and rolled their eyes, before summoning Tickety to prepare a light lunch and apparating to their suite to freshen up.

* * *

They had a light lunch in the shade of a folly on the western side of the Manor, between the house and hedge maze. Draco explained that the structure, with its gilt dome and Corinthian marble columns had been commissioned by his grandfather for his wedding ceremony.

"So, did you guys have a Quidditch scrimmage that landed you in a tree? Spill!" Ginny demanded.

Draco and Épiphanie looked at one another.

"We met Ma Mère," said Épiphanie.

"I'm confused," replied Ginny. "Ma Mère? I thought you already knew her. You introduced us to her ghost, right?"

"Ah, no. Not her ghost."

"The _real_ Marie Laveau," said Draco.

"How could you possibly have met the _real_ Marie Laveau?" asked Harry. "You'd have to travel back in time!"

The Malfoys gave the Potters pointed looks.

"But—that's impossible!" Harry exclaimed. "You would have to have a—"

Épiphanie set the time-turners on the table, and the other couple let out an audible gasp.

"They're true time-turners," said Draco. "Lucius gave me this one during the war, to hide away from You-Know-Who. Somehow, they ended up in our portkey and became activated."

"Seriously?" Ginny was aghast.

"We've spent two weeks lost in time!" Épiphanie exclaimed. "We actually _met_ the original owners of the house we were thinking of buying—slaves and all! Draco was forced to help chase down escaped slaves!"

"Of course, they didn't know that we were the ones who helped them to escape in the first place," he added.

"Merlin's beard!" Harry exclaimed.

"Then, when we finally figured out how to use it, we ended up at Hogwarts," said Draco.

"In 1971," said Épiphanie.

"You—wait—you mean—" Harry stammered.

"I hate to say it, but your dad was kind of an ass," she said. He stared at her agog. "I had to threaten him with detention—well Professor Legendre did, actually—on the second day of classes."

"You met my—my parents?"

"And Sirius, and Remus, and Severus—oh, and my dad! Draco even had a few encounters with his own parents!" she exclaimed.

"How did you do it? If Lucius had seen Draco—" Ginny asked.

"We arrived just as the students were getting off the train. Lucius was impossible not to notice, so we created a glamour for ourselves, and were heading for the Three Broomsticks when we were headed off by Professor Dumbledore," explained Épiphanie.

"He greeted us as if we were expected," said Draco. "Philomène Legendre, and Lucas—"

"Prewett?" Harry said before he finished.

"Yes. How did you know?" he asked.

"Lucas Prewett? Mum's cousin? I never told you about him, Harry." Ginny gave her husband a look of surprise.

Harry retrieved a small book from the inside pocket of his jacket. It appeared to be a diary. The leather cover was smooth, and well-worn.

"I found this in a drawer of the bedside table of the third floor guest room. Have you ever seen it before?" Harry pushed the book across the tabletop. Draco picked it up and opened the cover. He recognized the neat script immediately.

 _This Diary is the Property of the Half-Blood Prince_

"Who is the Half-Blood Prince?" Épiphanie asked.

"Severus Snape," Harry replied.

"How did you know that?" Draco asked, looking up from the book.

"Remember that brief time during sixth year, when I did so well in Potions?"

Draco raised a brow.

"The textbook I'd found belonged to him. It was filled with his notes—" Harry paused, averting his eyes. "—and um—spells he'd created."

"I see," Draco replied, softly. He cleared his throat, shaking off the memories of the painful experiences that he'd shared with the wizard whom he now considered a friend. He turned the page, where he found a newspaper clipping and read the headline.

 _Hogwarts Professors Missing—Feared Dead_

 _Two promising young teachers of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry are feared dead, having disappeared shortly before the Dark Mark appeared in the sky on Monday evening. Witnesses reported that, prior to their disappearance, Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, Philomène Legendre, and Potions Apprentice, Lucas Prewett were overheard making plans to rendezvous that evening. They were last seen exiting the Three Broomsticks at approximately ten o'clock p.m. Hogsmeade residents reported hearing an explosion—perhaps from a spell, which caused damage to Honeydukes Candy Shoppe. Others recall the sounds of shouting and saw a number of hooded figures running up the high street shortly thereafter._

 _Aurors report finding the cloak that Legendre was last seen wearing, along with a brooch and single cufflink bearing the crest of the Noble House of Black. Sixth Year Hogwarts student, Narcissa Black confirmed that the Potions Apprentice was a relative. The items belonging to the missing witch and wizard were found near the water, at the base of a bluff overlooking the Black Lake. An extensive search of the waters, including interviews with the merpeople turned up no bodies, but some attribute the lack of evidence to the grindylows which also dwell in the lake waters._

 _When asked for comment, Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore only stated that "The absence of evidence is not evidence of absence", and he remains optimistic that the star-crossed young teachers will turn up "somewhere in time."_

"He knew! You _said_ he knew!" Épiphanie exclaimed.

"Clever old bastard!" said Draco. "But, Mother recognized me—Prewett—so what happened to the _real_ Lucas Prewett?"

"Mum said he was murdered by Voldemort," replied Ginny.

"Hang on!" Harry interrupted. "You mean to say, that you were attacked by Death Eaters?"

"We were attacked by Death Eaters, but the killing curse was fired by Riddle himself," said Épiphanie. "And he was the one who set the Dark Mark in the sky afterwards." She went on to describe their adventures in complete detail, as Harry and Ginny listened in astonishment.

"You set the course for Barty Crouch to authorize the use of Unforgivable Curses in interrogations!" Harry exclaimed.

"Riddle and Bellatrix were having an affair?" Ginny pulled a disgusted face.

"And you taught Snape to duel, so he could defend himself from Sirius and my…dad?"

Épiphanie nodded a bit sheepishly.

"I thought Riddle was the only one capable of unsupported flight. How—"

"I'm not really sure, Harry. But you remember the night before the wedding, and the night Nott stole my wand."

"You mean—? But I thought that you cushioned your fall with a spell."

She shook her head. Harry sank back in his chair.

"Merlin's daughter! You are—"

"Harry, you don't like people goggling you because you defeated Voldemort. Let's not make this a thing. As it is, Draco thinks I take too many risks."

"Because you do," Draco said, flipping a page in the diary and reading. He looked up. "Did you read any of this, Harry?"

"A page or two. I admit that curiosity got the better of me, given what I'd seen of his memories in the pensieve. I wanted to know if he'd written anything about my mum." Harry ran a hand over his hair before flattening it.

"He writes of her quite a bit."

"I noticed. He also seemed to be quite affected, in the short time that he knew them, by Prewett and Legendre."


	18. The Diary of the Half-Blood Prince

_**Snape's first lecture to the students (Philosopher's Stone) is quoted._

* * *

 _September 2, 1971_

 _Mother had painted Hogwarts as a beautiful sanctuary, where I would make many friends and come to look upon it as a second home. Sadly, it does not appear that the sanctuary of her glory days will be the same for me. First, there was the absolutely disastrous train ride. Why did those fatuous prats, Potter and Black have to choose our compartment?_

 _If that wasn't bad enough, to add insult to injury, that silly Sorting Hat placed Lily in_ Gryffindor! _Honestly! I'm certain she'd have been much more suited to Slytherin—at the very least, Ravenclaw. Now, she's actually living and studying with those spoiled, arrogant gits._

 _I was buoyed by the fact that she accepted my invitation to partner with one another in Potions class. She didn't seem to care for the awful things they said to me before Mr. Prewett entered the laboratory._

 _I do believe that Potions may well become my favorite class! For an apprentice, Mr. Prewett appears to be quite competent in the subject. He makes it sound so fascinating! And he is quite correct, there is something beautiful about a softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through the human veins, bewitching the minds, ensnaring the senses. I will become a master potioneer! I will bottle fame, brew glory, and even stopper death! Those are Prewett's sentiments, not my own, but I will bring them to life. I'll show Potter and the whole lot of them. One day, they will rue the day that they ever harassed me!_

* * *

 _September 5, 1971_

 _She said 'yes'! Well, not exactly. I'd asked if she would teach me to do wandless magic. I overheard Gideon Goyle and Elvira Crouch discussing the Seventh Year lesson in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Professor Legendre had dueled Lucius Malfoy—he's a prefect—and defeated him even after he'd disarmed her! She'd even cast a corporeal patronus! A dragon!_

 _I just had to do something. Potter and his lot seem to have made it their mission to embarrass me at every turn. The professor and Mr. Prewett intervened after he attempted to hex me again before dinner the other night. Fortunately for me, Malfoy saw him, and hit him with a well-aimed stinging jinx, right to the face. Unfortunately, Potter assumed it was me, and before anyone knew it, the Slytherins and Gryffindors were facing off._

 _I was mortified when she requested my wand! I had no idea what she intended, and when she cast Prior Incantatem, she said nothing in regards to the posy that I had conjured. I never had the opportunity to give it to Lily—Potter again—but next time, I will be more careful. When she cast the spell on Potter's wand, and I saw the image of myself under the jelly-legs jinx, I wished I could have apparated on the spot. However, she didn't allow the full image to form. Somehow, I think she knew it was me that she would see. I wonder if she's a legilimens. Potter lost Gryffindor twenty points! Justice is golden! How I wish that she had followed through with the threat to give him detention as well._

 _Lily gave me another one of her pitiful glances as they entered the Great Hall. I hate that! I am not weak! On a more positive note, Lucius invited me to sit with him and his mates. Me—a First Year—consorting with elite Slytherins, like Parkinson, Goyle and Nott! They're all some of the oldest pureblood families in the UK!_

 _She offered me an interesting snack that she called cheese straws, along with tea poured over ice and served in a glass! I must say, both were surprisingly tasty. Americans are most intriguing! Nonetheless, she said that she would not teach me wandless magic, but before I even had time to become devastated, she did agree to teach me to duel! We are to meet privately this evening after dinner._

* * *

 _September 6, 1971_

 _I think the lesson went surprisingly well. I've mastered all of the defensive spells on the First Year course of study! We've already moved on to Second Year wand work. After a few tries, my shield charm was able to hold up against the professor's spells. She still managed to push me backwards most of the time. Her spells are immensely powerful! I should like to see her duel a wizard as powerful as Dumbledore! Personally, I think she would hold her own. Perhaps that is why he chose to hire her, despite the fact that she is from abroad._

 _Professor Legendre doesn't seem to be like the others. She's the only witch besides the flying instructor to wear trousers! She's amazingly beautiful, with eyes that seem to have their own magic! I wonder if she might have been sorted into Slytherin, had she attended Hogwarts. I should like to think so—even her wand has intertwined serpents on it!_

 _She seems to spend quite a lot of time with Mr. Prewett. I wonder if they are courting. Lucius says that the Prewetts are of the House of Black, but their reputation is a bit tarnished. Something about one of the Prewett daughters marrying into a family of blood-traitors. Apparently, Malfoy and his mates take blood purity quite seriously. I certainly have no intention of mentioning my wretched father in their presence, or indeed any other's. If only mother had chosen better. Silas says that Professor Legendre is a half-blood. At least, that is what she told the class, and said that her muggle mother has magical ancestry. I wonder if that is possible. Maybe she's a squib. How unfortunate! On the other hand, who knows what Americans think of blood purity? They take separation from muggles much more seriously there. Until a few years ago, they had a law completely prohibiting contact with the muggle world. It was stricter than the Statute of Secrecy, some say._

 _I hope that my next private lesson with the Professor will be soon. I think I might show her one of my own spells. I've come up with quite a few useful ones. Maybe I will ask her to help me test my Muffliato charm. I know that it works, but I should like to be certain. Perhaps I should simply approach her this evening after dinner. Mother always says why put off for tomorrow what you can do today?_

* * *

 _September 7, 1971_

 _It was amazing and frightening all at the same time! A massive stellar skull of bright green with a serpent emerging from its mouth where a tongue should be, hovering over the Black Lake! Avery said it was the Dark Mark—the mark of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Whenever he has killed, the mark appears in the sky._

 _When we arrived at dinner, the word was out—her torn cloak and his broken cufflink were found at the edge of the lake, almost directly below where we had seen the Mark the night before._

 _My heart is aching right now. They were the first adults who ever showed me sincere kindness. He revealed to me the subtle exquisiteness of potions. It was Prewett who awakened my sense of purpose! Legendre—the lovely Philomène Legendre—the beguiling, powerful witch from across the ocean! She understood me, cared for me, believed in me. How could she be gone? It just can't be!_

 _I will hold out hope that they have escaped the horror, and will return to Hogwarts with an amazing tale of their adventure. In the meantime, I shall remember the fleeting moments of discovery which they gifted me. I shall honour those gifts by exceeding the expectations others have for me. They will remember the Half-Blood Prince._

* * *

 _September 29, 1981_

 _I shared a rare moment of camaraderie this afternoon with Kingsley Shacklebolt. He seemed unusually jovial, despite the overall edginess that tinged the Order's meeting. I don't normally engage him, but I was curious. He said he'd met someone. I was staggered when he showed me her photograph! She could have been Professor Legendre's sister! Her name is Angelique, and she's American student on holiday before continuing her studies at university. Were she just a bit darker in complexion, they might have been twins. I pointed this out to Kingsley, and he said that was his first impression as well. He said he'd inquired, but she said her sisters had never been to Britain, and neither is named Philomène. She's a muggle, but he appears to be quite smitten with her. If only this war could come to an end—there might be some hope for them._

* * *

 _November 1, 1981_

 _They were supposed to be safe! He wasn't supposed to find them! It's all my fault. My beautiful Lily! How was I ever to know that The Dark Lord would believe your child to be the Chosen One? I will protect the boy. I shall avenge your demise. You will live forever in my heart of hearts—Always._

* * *

Draco heaved a sigh and closed the diary. He traced his fingers over the leather cover, and closed his eyes. Épiphanie laid a hand over his and gave it a squeeze. Her fingertips brushed over the binding, and she felt the magic pulsing from the book.

"There's something here," she said.

"What?" Draco looked at her curiously.

"What do you mean?" asked Harry.

"Didn't you feel it?" she asked them.

"I…don't do to well with diaries," Harry replied with a grimace. Ginny shuddered noticeably.

"Why is that—wait a minute. You came across Riddle's diary, didn't you? The horcrux?"

"I've never told anyone about the horcruxes!" Harry exclaimed. "Hermione and Ron were the only others who ever knew! How did you—" Épiphanie gave him a pointed look. He stared at her in open surprise. "No wonder he had to kill Philomène. If he couldn't get you to join him, you were a real threat, especially given that you were under Dumbledore's employ and filled the position he coveted. Merlin!"

"Well, this isn't that type of magic. I know spirit magic, and this doesn't feel dark. It's something else." Épiphanie slid the diary from under Draco's hand, and picked it up, turning it in her hands. She ran her fingers over the soft, aged leather and opened the book. Turning to the back cover, she moved her hand over the marbled flyleaf and closed her eyes.

"Draco, where's your wand?" she asked.

"My wand?" he looked at her curiously.

"Yes. It has to be yours. Touch it here." She pointed to a corner of the paper which was glued to the inside cover. Draco drew his wand and did as she instructed. The flyleaf curled away from the leather, revealing a sealed envelope. Draco took the envelope and turned it over to see his name appear on the front. He broke the seal and found inside a letter and another envelope. He looked at his wife, who gave him an encouraging nod. He unfolded the letter.

* * *

 _Dear Draco,_

 _If you are reading this, I sincerely hope that it means that Voldemort has been defeated and the war is finally over. I dare not have risked informing you of its presence while he was still undefeated, lest he discover my duplicity. Nonetheless, I've always known you to be a clever lad, and that is the reason I chose to leave it in such a place that it may be found by you._

 _I have ever only had two important loves in my lifetime. Though the first was only a youthful infatuation with someone who was more like a mentor for a very brief time, I loved her all the same. The other was the deepest love of my heart. She was my first friend, and I ever regretted hurting her in such a way that she eventually found her heart in the hands of my most despised rival. Sadly, the Dark Lord was responsible for taking them both from this realm. It is my sincere hope that one day you will find someone who encourages you to believe in yourself as Philomène Legendre did for me, and someone who makes your heart sing as Lily Evans made mine. When you find your soul match, treat her as if she is your beginning and your end, let nothing stand between your hearts and place her needs first._

 _Draco, you are as close to a son as I might ever have known. I have made some grave mistakes in my life, and I hope that I did not encourage the same ideas and mistakes in yours. I did attempt to appeal to Lucius not to allow you to take the Dark Mark, and I made an unbreakable vow to your mother to help you in any way that I could. I feel safe in revealing within this letter that Dumbledore knew you had been tasked with his assassination. He wished to spare your eternal soul from the damnation of being ripped in two. That is why he begged me on the tower, and why I cast the curse that sent him to his fate. Do not carry that guilt with you. I know that it is not in your nature to murder callously. Albus was already slowly sinking into his demise before that night. He wished not to go to his end in slow and painful agony._

 _There was one other mentor who was in my life but a little while. Lucas Prewett, a relative of yours in fact, inspired my great interest in potion-making. He was intellectual, conscientious and fair in his dealings with his students. As your mentor, my one great regret is fostering the enmity that existed between you and Harry Potter. I admit that much of my own dislike of him was based on childish bitterness that I allowed to fester and color my opinion of him. If he too has survived the war, as I have every confidence he has, given that you are now reading this letter, please make an effort to reconcile your differences. Professor Legendre once told me that_ _even the darkest among us have a little light. We just have to remember it's there, and we must be willing to let it shine. I have seen the light and the dark within you both, and I know that the light is the more powerful force within you._ _If peace is to grow in a postbellum world, the two of you are its best ambassadors._

 _I have only one request now. Please seek him out and give him the enclosed letter. Share with him the contents of this diary, so he might find even the slightest light in me._

 _As you go forward, Draco, let your light shine upon others, so that it is your good works that they remember._

 _Always,_

 _Severus Snape_

* * *

Draco sniffled and blinked several times to clear his watery eyes. He took a deep breath and looked at Harry before pushing the envelope across the table.

"Ahem." He cleared his throat. "This is for you," he said in a soft, husky voice. Harry knit his brow as he reached for the envelope. "Before you open it—" Draco spoke up suddenly.

"Yes?"

"I—I just wanted to say thank you."

"For what?" Harry asked.

"For accepting my hand—the second time around." He held Harry's gaze before lifting his hand from the envelope.

Harry nodded and took the envelope. His name appeared on the front, the moment that his fingers touched it. He broke the seal and unfolded the parchment inside.

* * *

 _Dear Harry,_

 _If you are reading this, I can assume that the war is over and again, you are the Boy Who Lived. I hope that it was Draco who delivered this missive to you. I would very much have preferred to have this conversation with you in person. It has been one of my deepest longings of late, to right the wrongs that I have done in my lifetime._

 _Harry, I must make a confession. I judged you unfairly because I carried the pain of being angry and what I felt was unfair treatment on behalf of your father. I was jealous. James Potter was wealthy, well-liked, and a Quidditch star, while I wore second-hand clothing, and had only one true friend. I didn't want to share her with anyone else, least of all the person who derived his joy from constantly tormenting me._

 _I do not attempt to justify my behavior by blaming your father. It is wrong to speak ill of the departed. I saw much of the same antagonism between you and Draco Malfoy, and I admit that I chose not to interfere because I felt I owed a small debt to Lucius for intervening at least once and providing me with what I believed at the time were powerful connections in our world. I didn't know then, the price we would all pay as a result._

 _I know that you blame me for the death of Albus Dumbledore, but you must understand that I had no choice, and Albus was at peace with the prospect of the end of his life. He did not wish to go in painful agony, nor did he wish for Draco to damn his soul to be rent in two. I had come to look upon Draco as the son I did not have, and I had made an unbreakable vow to his mother to help him._

 _As I have previously stated, there has only ever been one true friend in my life. Lily Evans was my first real friend. She became my unrequited love, and I drove her away by taking out my frustrations in a hateful way towards her. My greatest regret is the part that I played in her ultimate demise. I hope you will learn that I did what I could to repent for my grave mistake and I will meet Death knowing that nothing I could have done afterwards will ever be enough to overcome my guilt over my actions._

 _I owed a debt to both of your parents to protect you. I do not believe that I always gave you my best, for reasons that I have already declared. I came to learn the error of my ways, but again it was too late. By then, we had learned of your connection to the Dark Lord, and I could not risk him learning of my duplicity through you. Apologies will never be enough, but I sincerely wish that whatever little thing I may have done to help the cause to conquer the Dark Lord will illuminate the virtue that your mother had once found in me when we were children._

 _Harry, if Draco is the messenger bearing this letter to you, I hope that in this postbellum world, the two of you can find inspiration to make peace and be ambassadors of accord for wizarding society. I know that much has already been placed upon your shoulders at such a young age, but you have borne it with a grace and dignity that I envy. If anyone is able to influence others to put aside antiquated ideas and differences and work for the greater good, it will be the two of you._

 _I had a professor once who encouraged me to remember my own light, and let it shine. She too was taken by the Dark Lord, and I lament that I did not remember to hearken to her words. I have seen the light in both you and Draco, and I know that it is a formidable force. I have no right to ask anything of you, but I would like to encourage you to engage in discourse. Please take this diary. I hope that it will help you to learn more about your parents, and perhaps you might find even the faintest sliver of light in my memory._

 _Always,_

 _Severus Snape_

* * *

Harry gently laid the letter on the table and lifted his eyes to meet Draco's. They stared at one another in silence. Épiphanie gestured quietly to Ginny, and the two witches rose from the table and wandered towards the southern gardens behind the house in quiet discussion, leaving their husbands at the table.

The two sat quietly for a while longer before Draco finally spoke.

"He wanted us to reconcile."

"My letter said the same," replied Harry.

"Well, I suppose he got his wish."

"Clearly."

"Who would have thought—Well—" Draco began.

"Dumbledore!" they both said with a chuckle.

"Clever old fool!" Draco exclaimed. Harry nodded.

"Épiphanie seems to have made quite an impression on Severus."

"She seems to do that with everyone. I don't know if I will ever truly deserve her, Harry."

"I dunno, Draco. I think she's just what you needed. She came to you at just the right time. She loves you deeply. Not everyone is fortunate enough to have their true soul match."

"Indeed."

"Cherish that."

"Always."


End file.
